


Surreal But Nice

by fuzzballsheltiepants, gluupor, moonix



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Exy (All For The Game), Alternate Universe - Notting Hill Fusion, Asexual Neil Josten, Bookshop, Breaking Up & Making Up, Cats, Found Family, M/M, Movie Star Neil, Outing, Pining, Strangers to Lovers, involuntary outing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22423264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzzballsheltiepants/pseuds/fuzzballsheltiepants, https://archiveofourown.org/users/gluupor/pseuds/gluupor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonix/pseuds/moonix
Summary: Andrew's quiet life as the owner of an independent, cat-enriched bookstore in the heart of San Francisco's hills is thrown into turmoil when Famous Actor Neil Josten stumbles into his shop. They argue their way through Andrew's literary recommendations and into each other's hearts. But even as Neil is adopted into Andrew's family - feline and human alike - they struggle to find a way to reconcile their vastly different lives.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 587
Kudos: 1716





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Guess what we did? We're so excited to share this with you and we hope you like it as much as we do! Will be updating Sundays

Andrew sighed and stretched, idly flipping the page of the book he was barely paying attention to. It was a low customer day, caused by the grey and drizzly weather. Normally he enjoyed fewer customers in his bookshop but the fog had rolled in off the bay overnight, soupy and thick, and the weak spring sun hadn’t been able to burn it off. It blanketed everything, preventing him from seeing more than a couple feet past his shop windows, and made him feel closed in and alone.

He glanced at his watch. It was just past one p.m., so Nicky would be back from his lunch break soon, bringing Andrew his customary afternoon cup of caramel chai. He’d need the influx of caffeine and sugar to make it through the rest of the day.

The dog lying across his feet snorted and shifted in his sleep. Rufus didn’t usually spend his days in the bookshop but after returning from his walk this morning (which Matt always insisted on calling _walkies_ no matter how judgmentally Andrew acted) he’d become convinced that the staircase up to their apartment—the same stairs he went up and down multiple times a day—were too skinny for him to use and if he tried he’d surely die. Thus, he was spending the day with Andrew, napping across his feet, snoring and farting, only rousing himself to half-heartedly make a “boof!” sound every time the bell jingled to signal the entrance or exit of a customer.

He wasn’t bad company; he always left the cats alone (he was even more wary of them than of the terrifying staircase) and they mostly treated him like a piece of self-propelled furniture. He wasn’t dangerous in any way, except for the fact that he was one hundred and fifty pounds of pure idiot and his size and poor decision making skills didn’t always mesh well with people who were frightened of giant black dogs.

The bell on the door chimed and Andrew looked up, expecting Nicky with his tea. If Andrew was someone who did double takes he would have, but instead he just resumed reading his book after a brief pause. He immediately recognized the person who had entered his shop as Famous Actor Neil Josten, doing a poor job of hiding his identity by wearing a baseball hat and large sunglasses, which looked particularly stupid given the weather.

It wasn’t Andrew’s fault that he knew who Famous Actor Neil Josten was; he’d never seen any of his movies and he didn’t read the type of magazine or websites that featured him. But he did have a roommate and his roommate was a very vocal fan about everything that Famous Actor Neil Josten said and did.

How he got saddled with a roommate could be easily explained by the surprising fact that being a surly bookshop owner who actively discouraged customers from entering his store was not the most profitable profession. He needed the money Matt gave him to remain financially solvent. He’d gone through a fair number of potential roommates before he and Matt discovered that they were able to live together—despite his friendliness, very large dog, and penchant for walking around wearing almost nothing (which wasn’t exactly a hardship as he was attractive), Andrew found him a mainly unobjectionable roommate.

Andrew chanced another glance up at Famous Actor Neil Josten, who was in the process of removing his sunglasses and hanging them from the collar of his t-shirt. He met Andrew’s eyes and Andrew quickly turned his attention back to his book, trying to project absolute indifference. He didn’t care about him at all, no matter how impossibly blue his eyes were or how sharp his cheekbones. What did pique his interest was the tense hunch of his shoulders and the way his eyes kept darting back to the door as if he was being hunted.

Famous Actor Neil Josten ambled into the stacks and Andrew flipped another page of his book, despite not taking in any new information. It didn’t matter; he’d have to go back and re-read anyway, having lost interest over an hour before.

“Well, hello there,” said Famous Actor Neil Josten from the far side of the store.

Andrew looked up in confusion, certain that no one else was currently in the store, until Josten followed his words up with a, “Pspspspspsps” noise. Clearly he’d found one of the cats, probably Charlie; the hefty tortoiseshell spent most of her time curled up on the beanbag chair in the children’s section.

He swiveled towards the security monitors, freeing his toes from Rufus’s giant self. Charlie’s superpower was feigning deafness, and he was curious to see how Famous Actor Neil Josten coped with being ignored by a mountain of black-and-orange fur. But no; the traitor stirred, and was now sniffing his fingers with an interested air. Andrew turned back to his book. At this point he wasn’t even sure if it was right side up anymore, but he tried to focus on the text instead of the cooing that emanated from behind layers of bookcases.

Feet shuffled across the floor, picking their way slowly around the maze of stacks. Andrew blinked at the page—confirming it was, in fact, right side up—just in time for Famous Actor Neil Josten to come back into view. He was running one finger along the titles in the Modern Classics section, and he paused when he got to a certain title, pulling it free from its neighbors and flipping it open.

Andrew stopped even pretending to himself that he was reading his novel. “Don’t buy that,” he said, his voice cracking the silence.

Famous Actor Neil Josten flicked a glance at him, and a tiny whisper of a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Why not?”

“Because it’s awful. Terrible book.”

Now the smile was firmer, sharp as a knife-edge. “Why do you sell it then?”

“Because local teachers love inflicting pain upon their students. I’ve reported them to the authorities, but nobody listens.”

“Doesn’t that make you complicit?” Famous Actor Neil Josten asked, edging forward. “If you sell such an awful, terrible, torturous book, you’re really enabling the teachers’ sadism.”

Andrew stared at him for a moment, at the humor in the cool blue eyes, before remembering himself and tossing a hopefully-casual shrug.

“Suit yourself.”

He found his place in his book again, or what might have been his place. Who the fuck knew anymore.

The slap of paper on wood had him looking up again. _On the Road_ stared up at him, its stupid orange cover with the stupid block letters mocking him. “Why do you hate it?”

“Because it’s a pretentious, hateful piece of shit. Did you know that Kerouac taped together paper to make a scroll to write it on? A hundred and twenty feet long. No margins, no paragraph breaks.”

That laugh was not attractive, not at all. “So because the writer was ridiculous, you hate the book?”

“It’s glorified as being some brilliant tale of existential futility or whatever and really it’s just the same old repressed white-male bullshit.”

“Don’t be shy,” Famous Actor Neil Josten said, and that smile was dangerous now, a trap. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“Fuck off.”

“I think I know now why your store is so packed with customers, it’s your charm.”

At that precise moment, Shirley jumped up on the countertop and booped Andrew in the face, then stuck her floofy orange tail up his nose to greet the customer as was her custom.

“Say, how many cats do you have? I’m starting to think this shop is some kind of feline Tardis. More cats on the inside.”

“They… accumulate,” Andrew said vaguely, waving his hand around. “Like dust.”

Shirley affectionately chewed on Famous Actor Neil Josten’s Famous Hair. He laughed, and the freckled skin around his eyes creased. It made him look more like a real person and less like a screen dream come to walk among mortals for a day.

Andrew tugged Shirley back sourly and she scrabbled her paws along the counter, snagging the edge of _On The Road._ It tipped over the edge and fell to the ground with a sullen thump.

“There,” Andrew said. “She hates it too.”

“I wasn’t aware that cats could have opinions about books,” Famous Actor Neil Josten said.

“You must not know a lot of cats then. They have opinions about everything.”

Famous Actor Neil Josten looked wistful for a moment, his fingers trailing forlornly after Shirley’s swishing tail.

“I guess I don’t,” he said. “I move around a lot, so…”

He shrugged, then startled visibly when something brushed his leg. Andrew peered over the edge of the counter and saw that Rufus had placed a proprietary paw on his foot.

“Is that a bear,” Famous Actor Neil Josten said, perfectly deadpan.

“Yes,” Andrew deadpanned back. “He lives under the counter. Sometimes he eats people who have bad taste in books.”

“I see,” Famous Actor Neil Josten said wryly. “I take back the thing about the Tardis. This is a sneaky zoo that’s doing a very bad job at staying undercover. Are there giraffes here somewhere? A zebra, maybe?”

“What would I do with a zebra?” Andrew snorted. “They don’t know jack shit about literature. Giraffes probably read Dickens.”

“Okay, what’s wrong with Dickens now?”

“Nothing, if you’re looking to be bored out of your skull for an interminable amount of time.”

“Are there any books in here that you actually enjoy reading?”

“No, none. I hate reading,” Andrew tried.

“Yet you were doing just that before I dared to interrupt you by asking you to do your job, which is selling books.”

Andrew sighed, long and drawn-out.

“Fine. I’ll sell you the damn book. Far be it for me to stop you from throwing money out the window for a steaming piece of garbage.”

The Dashwood sisters, always moving in a pack, made an appearance to check out the handsome stranger that Andrew had spent more time talking to than he’d devoted to his own cousin all week, even despite the fact that he hadn’t brought Andrew a suitably expensive hot beverage. If Nicky found out, he was never going to let Andrew live it down.

“Oof,” Famous Actor Neil Josten said as Elinor lovingly headbutted him.

It was marginally amusing to watch him grow increasingly desperate because he only had two hands to pet three attention-seeking cats all vying for his affection. Andrew, who knew the dilemma well from personal experience, did not move a finger to help him out. Instead, he watched with concealed amusement as Marianne, naturally the most dramatic of the three, decided she wasn’t getting enough attention and started climbing his leg.

Andrew was distracted from enjoying Famous Actor Neil Josten’s hilariously subdued reaction to the needles in his leg by the door of the shop jingling open again. He looked up sharply, wondering if Nicky would heed him if he gestured at him to stay away. There was no way his overly friendly, bubbly cousin wouldn’t latch on to Famous Actor Neil Josten and ruin all of Andrew’s efforts to pretend at indifference to his presence. Asking Nicky to be cool in front of a hot guy was an exercise in futility—a guy who was both hot _and_ famous would probably incite a high-pitched screechy meltdown.

It wasn’t Nicky. It was a man Andrew didn’t recognize, although the way he was eyeing Famous Actor Neil Josten with something like hunger and carrying a bulky camera with a large telescopic lens indicated his profession.

Famous Actor Neil Josten tensed completely once he untangled himself from Marianne’s claws and glanced back at the shop’s newest patron. He lost the look of relaxed happiness that had made him appear human as his face turned icily blank. There was no longer any suppressed mirth in his eyes, only resignation and annoyance.

“No cameras allowed,” Andrew said to the newcomer.

The man stared back uncomprehendingly.

Andrew gestured at his hands. “Store rules. No cameras. For… copyright purposes.”

Famous Actor Neil Josten slid him a sly look that bolstered Andrew’s resolve to get the photographer out of his shop.

“Copyright purposes?” echoed the man in disbelief. “That’s ridiculous.” He exaggeratedly looked at the wall of the shop, “And not posted anywhere. You can’t make up arbitrary rules.”

“No blue shirts, either,” said Andrew. “Guess you’d better go.”

The man scoffed and took a step further into the shop, clearly set on ignoring Andrew’s completely-not-made-up rules.

“Rufus,” said Andrew, nudging him with his feet. “Kill.”

Rufus reluctantly stood and stretched, while yawning widely enough to show his gleaming white teeth. He shook himself and looked around, huffing excitedly when he caught sight of the newcomer and heading towards him.

The man blanched at the sight of the ginormous dog taking ungainly steps in his direction and he backtracked out of the shop quickly. Rufus whined in confusion at his new friend’s sudden departure.

Famous Actor Neil Josten eyed Rufus, but his shoulders were relaxed and his expression was amused again. “Your bear is trained to intimidate people out of your store?”

“The bear is trained to do nothing,” corrected Andrew. “He has the average intelligence of a garden variety rock.”

“Aw, don’t be mean to him,” replied Famous Actor Neil Josten.

“He doesn’t understand what I’m saying. As long as I say it nicely, I could call him the dumbest beast on the planet and he’ll be perfectly happy. Won’t you, doggo?” Rufus looked up at his tone and hopefully wagged his tail. “Yeah, yeah, you’re adequate,” allowed Andrew. “Come here, I’ll give you a treat.”

As he dug out the liver treats he kept under the counter for the cats, Rufus raised his ears and cocked his head in anticipation, only adding to his overall lopsided appearance. Andrew tossed him a treat; it bounced off Rufus’ forehead as he lunged and completely failed to catch it out of the air.

“I don’t know,” said Famous Actor Neil Josten slowly, “when he creases his… uh…” He wiggled his hands on either side of his temples, “...um… head flaps like that he looks pretty intelligent.”

Andrew blinked at him. “...Do you mean ears?” he drawled.

“Ears! Yes!” crowed Famous Actor Neil Josten in triumph. “That’s the word I was looking for.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow.

Famous Actor Neil Josten shrugged sheepishly. “The only word for ears I could remember was in Japanese.”

“Fascinating,” Andrew replied. He picked up the copy of _On The Road_ , pinching it disdainfully between two fingers, and let it drop on the counter. “That’ll be twenty bucks, then.”

“That seems excessive.”

“I’m charging you extra for the psychological damage I suffered by selling it to you.”

“You look fine to me,” Famous Actor Neil Josten said wryly, fishing his wallet out of an inside pocket of his jacket.

“Not all damage is visible to the naked eye,” Andrew pointed out. “Fine. Fifteen. That’s my last offer. Either you want the damn thing or not.”

Famous Actor Neil Josten flicked a rolled-up fifty dollar bill on the counter and snatched up the book.

“For the psychological damage,” he said cheekily, sliding his sunglasses into place while walking backwards a few steps. “Maybe I’ll buy a Dickens next time.”

“Maybe I’ll set Rufus on you next time.”

“I’m not scared. You ruined his street cred.”

Andrew sighed. “Get that book out of my sight.”

Famous Actor Neil Josten saluted him with the book in question, then turned around and left his shop.

The bell jingled itself to silence. Andrew pointedly did not watch Famous Actor Neil Josten’s retreating backside through the smudged windows, no matter how nice of a backside it was. Instead he picked his book back up and determinedly made it through five more pages, until Nicky came in with his chai and the latest gossip from the market down the street and asked him why he was holding his book upside-down.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're so glad you all seem as excited about this as we were writing it! We're loving all the comments (and just know, Rufus loves y'all too). Hope you enjoy this installment!

The rain beat a steady tattoo against the windows. The street was empty save for a single passerby, semi-invisible behind their umbrella, the yellow of their raincoat the only color in the gloom.

The shop door jangled, and in rushed Famous Actor Neil Josten, rainwater dripping off his nose and chin, hair plastered down onto his forehead and clothes clinging onto his body. His cheeks were flushed, eyes burning with an intensity that looked almost feverish.

Andrew felt—breathless, like he’d taken a painless blow to the solar plexus, and if that wasn’t the stupidest thing he had ever let himself feel he didn’t know what was.

Famous Actor Neil Josten leaned across the counter, dripping onto the laminate surface dangerously close to the cash register.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice pitched low and attractively hoarse. “I know we just met, and it’s crazy, but—but I can’t stop thinking about you. All night, I was up all night.” He raised shaky hands to his face, rubbing some of the rainwater off; he looked as if he were trying to rub his thoughts away with it. “I think...do you believe in soulmates?”

“Damn!” Matt exclaimed from his spot on the far end of the couch. Rufus shot to his feet, looking around for the threat before slinking over to hide between Andrew’s side of the couch and the wall. “God, this movie is so good.”

Andrew slowly unclenched his fingers from where they were buried in Oliver’s fur. The big pile of fluff didn’t even seem to notice, nothing interrupting the silent vibration of his purr. “Boyd, you’re nothing but a ridiculous oversized marshmallow.”

“C’mon, man, you’ve gotta admit you feel _something_. I mean, look at that perfection.”

That Perfection was, at the moment, suction-cupped to a generic thin blonde woman. Andrew studied his technique for a moment. “He doesn’t seem that into it.”

“What are you talking about?” Matt gesticulated in the direction of the screen. “They’re perfect together! She’s so…and he’s…” He spluttered in bisexual for a moment. On screen, Famous Actor Neil Josten was tenderly tucking the woman’s hair behind her ear.

It was nauseating, really.

And then he was leaving, disappearing back through the jangling door, no doubt only to return at some heroic moment and save the girl. It was supposed to be an action film, but so far the only things getting any action were Famous Actor Neil Josten’s Famous Lips. The camera zoomed in on the woman as she slowly raised her fingers to her mouth, and Andrew had to fight not to gag.

“Seriously, dude, what the fuck is this movie?”

Matt shot him a huge grin. “Did—did you just call me dude?”

“Shut up.”

“You did! You just called me dude!” He laughed to himself, absently petting the Dashwood sisters as they marched back and forth across his lap in a never-ending cycle. Andrew sighed and forced his attention back to the screen. People ran around, things blew up, guns were shot, laws of physics were broken, disbelief was unwillingly suspended. Through it all ran Famous Actor Neil Josten, at various intervals sweaty, bloody, yet again soaking wet... Andrew thought of him laughing across the bookstore, the curve of his lips and the smooth music of his voice, and maybe he had eaten too much curry with dinner, because something had to be making his stomach feel like that.

Of course Famous Actor Neil Josten got the girl in the end, because who could imagine a world in which that wouldn’t happen? Matt sagged back into the cushions with a contented sigh. “Tell me honestly, wasn’t that great?” Andrew shot him a glare in lieu of an answer, and Matt grinned. “You have to admit they had chemistry.”

“I admit nothing of the kind.”

“Come on,” scoffed Matt, “as if you wouldn’t hit that if you had a chance.”

Andrew opened his mouth to argue before closing it again. He didn’t want to admit to Matt that he’d had the chance and had not, in fact, hit that. “That’s beside the point and has nothing to do with the fact that he appeared as happy to be kissing Action Barbie as you do when you have to wear pants inside.”

Matt frowned. “That’s sexist. I’m sure she did just as much to save the planet by getting kidnapped and wringing her hands in worry as he did by defusing all those nuclear bombs and shooting terrorists.”

“A true American Hero.”

“I will admit that as a couple they’ve got nothing on Neil with his real life girlfriend.”

The curry definitely had been too spicy since it was now giving him heartburn. “You’re on a first name basis with a movie star?” he deflected.

Matt waved him off. “Of course I am. Me and Neil will be best buds as soon as we meet. Which will be soon. Did you know he’s in town shooting a movie?”

Andrew didn’t reply. He hadn’t told anyone about his chance encounter with Famous Actor Neil Josten. It made sense that he hadn’t mentioned it to Nicky or Matt because he valued his eardrums, but he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t said anything to his saner friends, like Renee. She wouldn’t have made a big deal out of it. But he didn’t want to open his mouth and tell anyone. It was his little secret, kept close and warm, not to be shared. Something surreal, but nice. Something only he knew.

“Anyway, where was I?” mused Matt. “Oh, right. Allison Reynolds is smoking hot and she can top me any time.”

“Who?” asked Andrew. He was sure they’d been talking about Famous Actor Neil Josten.

“Allison Reynolds? Neil’s girlfriend?”

The name sounded vaguely familiar. “Isn’t she an heiress or something?”

“Yeah,” agreed Matt. “Her family owns the Reynolds Resorts hotel chain. She had a reality show a couple years ago but she’s mostly famous for being famous. She and Neil have been together forever. I want to be the Matt filling in their sex sandwich.”

“Gross,” said Andrew, who definitely didn’t need the visual. “Aren’t you seeing someone?” Matt always seemed to be dating someone.

“Sure,” said Matt, shrugging, “but I would absolutely have sex with Neil Josten if he asked me to. Wouldn’t you?”

A cheeky smile flashed in Andrew’s memory. He may be less vocal about his attraction than Matt, but he was a simple gay who was definitely down to fuck Famous Actor Neil Josten. Not that a poreless HD demi-god like that would ever ask him. Especially since he was apparently both straight and taken.

He shook his head and got off the couch, not wanting to listen to Matt’s prattle anymore. Oliver grumbled his annoyance but got over it quickly as he curled up on the warm spot Andrew left behind.

“Hey, pass me my phone, would you?” asked Matt. “I want to send Neil thirst tweets.”

Andrew rolled his eyes and headed to his bedroom. He wasn’t sure why the news that Famous Actor Neil Josten had a hot girlfriend made him so disappointed. It wasn’t like he was surprised at the news, or that it made any difference in his life. Famous Actor Neil Josten may have stumbled into his shop but it was a one time event. He was never going to see him again.

* * *

“Hello? I’d like to return a book. Anyone here?”

Something prickled at the back of Andrew’s throat, like he’d knocked back a glass of overzealous champagne. He’d have recognized the voice even if he hadn’t just suffered through a “Neilathon” with Matt the night before. As it was, he was barely sure if he was awake or still dreaming about Famous Actor Neil Josten’s unfairly well-defined legs parading around his shop like the scuffed linoleum floor and threadbare rag rugs were a shiny red carpet.

He stifled a yawn in his sleeve and stepped out from behind the shelf that he was in the process of reorganising by setting of the books it contained. It required a lot of focus, because some books fit in multiple categories and he had to decide which counted as the primary setting, which often led to partial rereads and filled up his afternoons nicely.

“Finally,” Famous Actor Neil Josten sighed as he spotted him. Andrew entertained a brief fantasy of being bent over the counter in a very passionate, heated make-out session before forcefully shutting the creative part of his brain down.

Famous Actor Neil Josten tossed a book down on the counter. Andrew didn’t have to look to know that it was Kerouac’s masterpiece of crap.

“You were right. It was garbage. I have no idea why anyone would choose to read it, let alone inflict it on helpless teenagers.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow. “Please elaborate on how right I was.”

Famous Actor Neil Josten huffed. “The characters are dumb as fuck, self-centered, abusive pieces of rodent excrement who would be better off just fucking and getting it out of their system instead of beating the shit out of their wives. Plus it’s the most painfully obvious self-insert drivel I’ve ever seen.”

“Not that I object to you coming to your senses, but we have a no return policy,” Andrew drawled, tapping the sign next to the till. Famous Actor Neil Josten shrugged.

“I don’t care about the money. You can resell it if you want. Mostly I just want something to stave off the mind-numbing boredom while I’m stuck in the hotel and I thought you might have a recommendation or two.”

Andrew’s traitorous mind immediately supplied a custom selection of books that might interest a restless soul such as the man who was currently taking up all the metaphorical space in his tiny shop with his twitchy, fidgety presence. Then those were crowded out by other activities that traditionally kept boredom at bay, and Andrew had to duck down behind the counter and grab whichever unlucky cat was nearest to stop himself from suggesting any of them out loud.

“Here’s a recommendation,” he said, hefting Charlie’s giant, purring body over his shoulder. “You might want to write this down though, because it’s very complicated.”

“Okay,” Famous Actor Neil Josten said, frowning and tapping his fingers on the counter. They were nice fingers—long and sturdy and nimble, with freckles dusted across the knuckles. Andrew had even seen them perform some impressive sleight-of-hand in one of the movies Matt had made him watch. “I think I’ll manage.”

“Suit yourself,” Andrew said. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

“A-M-A-Z-O-N D-O-T C-O-M,” Andrew spelled out slowly and meticulously.

By the fifth letter, Famous Actor Neil Josten appeared to be developing some sort of a tic: something was pulling at the corners of his lips and crinkling the corners of his eyes, but it couldn’t technically be called a smile. “Interesting suggestion,” he said. “I think I’ve heard of that one.”

“Have you now.”

“Yeah. But I’m not really into horror. Can you make any other suggestions?”

Andrew could feel himself teetering; the ground was crumbling under his feet, with all the accordant fears of falling crawling up his throat. He pulled Charlie tighter to his chest, swallowed his stomach, and leaped.

Famous Actor Neil Josten’s Famous Mouth remained shut as he watched Andrew sort through the shelves, tossing some books aside while others made the cut. _Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_ was soon joined by _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_ ; _Maus_ got dropped unceremoniously on top; _The Mysterious Affair at Styles_ and _The Colour of Magic_ rounded out the stack. He tugged out one of the cloth shopping bags with his stupid logo on it to shove the books into, then held it out.

Famous Actor Neil Josten was holding his wallet; Andrew shook his head silently at him. “But—”

“You already paid for these, remember?”

“They have to cost more than fifty bucks.”

They didn’t, but Andrew wasn’t going to bother proving it. “Tell me what you think of them.”

With that, Andrew spun on his heel and disappeared into the tiny store room. He really needed to see a doctor, if his heart was pounding like this for no goddamn reason. There was a weighty silence, then he heard indistinct words in a quiet voice followed by the scrape of Rufus’s toenails on the floor, the jangle of the door, and then the different sort of silence of the empty shop. Rufus let out a low whine at being left behind. Andrew emerged, ruffling the big dog’s windswept ears as they stood, hip to shoulder, and stared out at the river of people flowing past the door.

* * *

 _Neil Josten (born Abram Hatford; January 19 1987) is a British-American actor. He is best known for his award-winning role as serial killer Nathan Wesninski in the acclaimed HBO miniseries,_ The Butcher _._

“Whatcha doing?”

Andrew slapped his laptop closed and glared up at Nicky who had somehow managed to sneak up behind him and hover over his shoulder. “Nothing.”

Nicky raised an eyebrow and stepped back. “Porn, huh?”

Andrew glanced back down at his laptop and tried to decide whether agreeing with Nicky was more or less embarrassing than admitting he was Googling a Famous Actor who he maybe, sort of, had a teeny, tiny crush on.

“Hey, no judgment!” said Nicky happily before Andrew could make up his mind. “I’ve looked at _loads_ of porn at work.”

“Stop talking,” instructed Andrew. “Isn’t it time for your lunch?”

“That’s why I’m here, boss.”

Andrew sighed and opened the cash register, fishing out a twenty and handing it over. Nicky wasn’t technically his employee—he had more or less forced his way into volunteering to work at Andrew’s shop in exchange for Andrew buying him lunch every day as compensation. Nicky’s actual job was being a trophy husband to a rich banker and he needed something to keep him from succumbing to boredom. Andrew had been wary of the arrangement and spending so much time with Nicky, but it had unexpectedly worked out in both their favor.

Nicky took the money and headed out of the shop. He turned just before he pushed his way through the door, “You seem on edge. Maybe I’ll bring you something herbal when I come back.”

“If you bring me non caffeinated tea you are fired,” Andrew warned.

Nicky’s resulting laugh was complemented by the jingling of the bell as he left.

Andrew glanced back at his laptop. It wasn’t pathetic to Google a Famous Actor in order to see what he was up to, was it? Especially not a Famous Actor who Andrew had demanded return to tell him what he thought of books. Books that Andrew had personally chosen for him. And sure, they weren’t his favorite books—those that he returned to again and again, that had helped him through his rotten childhood, that had made him realize he wasn’t alone—but they were still good books and Andrew had put thought into selecting them. It was rude of Famous Actor Neil Josten not to let Andrew know what he thought of them. Especially since he seemed to have time to engage with trolls on Twitter.

Andrew was considering setting up a Google Alert when the door jangled again and Famous Actor Neil Josten walked through as if summoned by Andrew’s thoughts, his arms full of books.

Andrew closed his laptop again, this time more naturally and less suspiciously, and watched in bemusement as Famous Actor Neil Josten dumped his armload of books on the counter.

“I have thoughts,” he said, before getting distracted by Shirley winding her way around his ankles.

“You’re aware this isn’t a library, right?” asked Andrew. “You don’t have to return the books after you’ve read them.”

Famous Actor Neil Josten shrugged. “It’s a used book store; you can resell them.”

“You don’t want to keep them?”

“I move around a lot. I don’t have many possessions.”

Something about that struck a chord with Andrew; he knew what it was like. “Which was your favorite?” he asked.

“Hmm… probably _The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_. Some of the humor was dated but it was very British. It made me a little homesick. So did the setting of the Christie book. I grew up in an old-fashioned English manor house.”

“Then why don’t you have an accent?”

“I can,” said Famous Actor Neil Josten. “But I tend to mimic those around me unconsciously.” He leaned down to scoop Shirley into his arms. “Now, the other—hold on, you’ve got to tell me your name,” he said cutting himself off.

“Why?” blurted Andrew.

“I can’t keep calling you Bookshop Guy in my head; it’s weird.”

“Maybe you’re a witch,” said Andrew. “Maybe you’re one of the fae. It might not be safe to give you my name.”

Famous Actor Neil Josten’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Here, I’ll go first. You can call me Neil.”

“‘M Andrew,” he mumbled, feeling his cheeks flush for no discernible reason.

“Andrew,” repeated Famo—Neil. He’d given permission to call him by name. Andrew liked the way his name sounded in his mouth. “Good to know,” he continued, settling more comfortably against the counter. “Now, first things first. How can you possibly own cats after reading _Maus_?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thank you for your comments, we are very happy you seem to be enjoying this fic and hope you will have fun with this chapter. Ready? 3... 2... 1... go!

Neil started coming by the bookshop more often. 

Never on the same day or at the same time, always keeping Andrew on his toes, who found himself fussing over his daily outfit and frequently wandering the aisles on the hunt for The Perfect Book to recommend next. Neil was a speedy reader, he devoured whatever Andrew gave him, even and especially if he didn’t like it. He had strong, obnoxious opinions that he never hesitated to share with Andrew, and in between talking about books Andrew learned a few tidbits about Neil himself that no amount of internet research would have told him. 

Like, for example, his favorite dessert. 

“Pears,” Andrew said, disbelieving. “And cheese.” 

Neil nodded, looking rapturous. 

“You can say what you want about France, but they have damn good cheese. And the pears were just… they were perfect. Like, half a day away from being overripe. They practically fell apart in your mouth. Though the fresh figs they had in Italy were amazing, too. Nearly gave myself diarrhea because I ate so many.” 

There he was, the physical manifestation of Andrew’s Type, haunter of his dreams and star of his daytime fantasies, talking about his disgusting taste in desserts and his bowel movements, and Andrew was still attracted to him. 

“Fuck off,” Andrew blurted. 

“Excuse me?” Neil said, amused. His fingers were dancing some exotic dance on the counter, trailing over the corners of Andrew’s books, spinning dangerously close to Andrew’s own hand. 

“You haven’t known true bliss until you’ve had a chocolate lava cake with salted caramel ice cream from Heaven’s Kitchen,” Andrew grumbled. 

“Heaven’s Kitchen?” 

Andrew’s mouth abruptly went dry and crumbly like stale shortbread as his brain snagged on the fact that this was the perfect opportunity to ask Neil out. They could go for dinner at Heaven’s Kitchen, the restaurant down the street that Renee owned. Andrew would forgo the outrageously good garlic bread for once, but he could show Neil the delights of a proper, chocolate-drenched dessert—possibly spoon-feeding him, if Neil was up for that sort of romantic crap, not that Andrew was particularly invested. And then they could go for a walk through the nearby park, which was locked at night but which had gates low enough for even Andrew to climb. And then… 

A phone buzzed. Neil patted himself down and pulled his phone out of an inner jacket pocket, frowning at it. 

“Ah, crap.” He answered it. “Hey, Alli. Yeah, I’m almost there. No, of course I haven’t forgotten. I’m totally on my way, promise. I’ll be there in five, I can already see the hotel, traffic’s just awful. Don’t worry, I won’t be late. See you. Yeah. Love you. Bye.” 

He hung up and let loose an impressive volley of swearing. 

“Trouble in paradise?” Andrew asked. He bit his tongue to get rid of the fuzzy feeling in his mouth and busied himself with stacking books at random. 

“I have to go to this gala thing today,” Neil sighed. “And I completely forgot. I didn’t even bring a suit. Allison is going to kill me.” 

“Where is it?” Andrew asked, keeping his eyes fixed on the books. Stack, stack, stack. The Murakami didn’t go with the Aaronovitch, but Andrew didn’t care. Cold sweat was beading on the back of his neck. 

“At the Palace Hotel. Think I can make it there in fifteen minutes?” 

“I can drive you there in ten,” Andrew’s traitorous mouth said, completely without his brain’s permission. 

Seven minutes later they were in the car, dodging traffic through Mid-Market. It would’ve been five if it weren’t for the fact that Rufus had become a Frozen Statue of Dog on the stairs and they’d had to half-carry him up. Neil had pulled Andrew’s favorite charcoal gray suit on in record time—it almost fit—and now he was in the passenger seat frantically removing cat hair with a spare sticky roller he had dug out of the glove box. 

Some sort of delivery truck cut directly into Andrew’s path; Andrew cursed and swerved, and Neil craned his neck around. “Wait, are there gardens?” 

“Yerba Buena,” Andrew grunted, braking hard to avoid a pedestrian. 

“Bless you,” Neil said, and damn him he was smiling some stupid soft crooked smile. Not his press smile, that looked like it could cut glass; this one was careless and pretty and real and Andrew wanted to kiss it off of him, and fuck if that wasn’t the worst possible thought right now. Neil was going to a gala he was attending with his girlfriend. Full stop. End of story. 

They passed the gardens, the handful of people dotting the slope in front of the waterfall reduced to lumpy silhouettes by the lights. Neil made a tiny sound that was suspiciously like a sigh. “Maybe we could go sometime.” The murmur was so quiet it almost disappeared into the noise of the engine, of the city around them, but Andrew heard it anyway. 

It would almost be faster from here if Neil got out and walked. The light switched to green, and Andrew crept forward with the rest of the traffic. Only another block, and Neil would be gone, whisked into the spotlight he so naturally belonged to. Andrew turned left—it might’ve been a slightly illegal turn but who was counting—and pulled up to the sidewalk just before the line where the mass of people and cars and lights occluded the street. Sixteen minutes and thirty three seconds from when Neil had hung up his phone. 

Neil sank back into the seat, tucking himself into the shadows. He looked empty. Empty and exhausted and lost and too young and too old, all at once. Ten seconds, fifteen, and then he swallowed hard, rubbed a hand over his face, and turned to Andrew with a shaky ghost of a smile. “Here,” he said, holding out the lint roller. 

Andrew took it, because what else was he going to do? He was a foot away from one of the biggest movie stars in the world, holding onto a wad of sticky paper on a stick, and the sheer ridiculousness of the entire thing had him nearly choking on a laugh. There was a question in Neil’s eyes, but Andrew just shook his head. 

“Thanks for the ride,” Neil said; he looked like he was going to say something else, but then his mouth closed and his face shuttered with it. He cracked open the door, got out, smoothed his shirt and buttoned his jacket, each step rehearsed, the careful putting on of a costume. “I’ll bring the suit back in a couple of days.” 

“Keep it.” Andrew really had to work on that whole mouth-getting-ahead-of-brain thing, but there was a quick flash of an honest smile from Neil before his press mask returned. Then he was gone, and Famous Actor Neil Josten was walking up the sidewalk amid flashing cameras. A leggy blonde in a painted-on dress greeted him, scrutinizing the suit for a moment before bending down for a kiss on the cheek. Andrew watched them disappear into the crowd, arms linked, before putting the car into drive and turning for home. 

* * *

There was a ringing noise emerging deep from the bowels of Andrew’s shop. Nicky came out of the back storeroom, looking perplexed, as Andrew followed the noise to its source: an ancient-looking telephone hidden behind one of the shelves. 

“We have a phone?” asked Nicky. “A landline? Do we _pay_ for that?” 

Andrew shrugged and picked it up, wondering why the person on the other end hadn’t given up yet. “Hello?” 

“Good,” said the voice on the other end, which Andrew recognized despite the single syllable. “This was the only number I could find for your shop and I wasn’t sure if it was still in service but I don’t have the time to come down right now and I wanted to ask you something.” 

“Neil?” asked Andrew, cutting off his breathless babble. 

“Right, yes, sorry, it’s Neil,” he said sheepishly. “I’ve been too busy to return the suit for the past few days; Allison always has me running around to events when she’s with me. She’s returned to L.A. for a… fashion show? Or something with her cosmetics line? Who knows, she has way too many projects for me to keep track of—anyway, I’m busy this afternoon but I was wondering if afterwards maybe… maybe we could go to that garden we saw? After you close your shop?” 

“Yes,” said Andrew. Clearly his brain-to-mouth filter had not fixed itself in the days since he’d seen Neil. He knew he shouldn’t do this to himself, that his harmless crush on a celebrity was turning into something much more than he could handle, but he also couldn’t seem to stop himself. 

“Oh, good,” sighed Neil. Andrew could hear commotion in the background and someone calling Neil’s name. “I’ve got to go now, but I’m free after five? I’m still at the Palace Hotel. My suite is number 1003; come up and get me when you arrive.” 

Andrew barely had time to acknowledge the information before the line went dead. 

“So,” said Nicky, rocking on his toes and looking at Andrew with anticipation, “who’s Neil?” 

“No one,” said Andrew reflexively, numbly walking back through his shop. “You’ll have to close the shop for me, I’ve got to…” he trailed off. 

He had to shower and figure out what to wear and make himself look as hot as possible. It was stupid and self-destructive but he wanted to look nice for Neil. For their outing which was definitely not a date because Andrew didn’t date straight men who were in committed relationships with other people. 

“Okay,” agreed Nicky cheerfully. “As long as you give me all the details of your date tomorrow.” 

“I will give you zero details.” 

“Sounds about right,” said Nicky. “Have fun anyway!” 

* * *

Andrew arrived before five. He paced to kill time but still found himself knocking on the door of Neil’s suite fifteen minutes earlier than he’d been invited to be there because he was pathetic. 

A tall woman holding a clipboard opened the door. She was dressed in an immaculate pantsuit and had her hair twisted back in a severe bun. Everything about her screamed efficiency. 

“You’ve made it just in time,” she said, ushering him into the suite. “What’s your name?” 

“Andrew Minyard,” he answered instantly. Her ruthless competence intimidated him and made him want to answer anything she asked. 

“What publication are you with?” 

“Um,” he said, not understanding the question. 

“Which publication?” she asked again, this time impatiently. “You’re here to interview Mr. Josten about his latest movie, aren’t you? What newspaper or magazine are you with?” 

Andrew’s mind went completely blank. Katelyn’s job as a freelance journalist meant her and Aaron’s apartment was always filled with magazines but he couldn’t think of a single one except, “ _Horse and Hound_ ,” he blurted, because apparently his mouth was no longer connected to his brain at all. Obviously his association with Neil had severed it completely. 

“ _Horse and Hound_ ,” she repeated dubiously, but wrote the information on her clipboard anyway. “Alright,” she said, clicking her pen. “Take a seat. Mr. Josten will be ready for you in a moment.” 

She left him alone. Andrew considered fleeing from the hotel room, but instead found himself taking a seat. His knees felt like jelly. 

It wasn’t long before Scary Lady returned. “Mr. Josten is waiting for you in here,” she said, gesturing him into the far room of the suite. 

“You promised I’d be done at five,” he heard Neil’s voice faintly complaining as he made his way over. “I’ve got plans.” 

“Just one more, Neil,” she said severely. “Stop whining.” She cleared her throat. “This is Mr. Minyard, from _Horse and Hound_.” 

Andrew entered the room during her announcement just in time to witness Neil’s reaction. The formality slid from his shoulders as he blinked twice at Andrew’s introduction. Andrew saw the same transformation he’d seen when he dropped him off at the gala, only this time in reverse. Famous Actor Neil Josten’s face creased into a smile, a real smile, the one that crinkled his skin on his temples, and he was Neil again. His eyes sparked with mischief. 

“From _Horse and Hound_ are you?” he asked. “Take a seat.” 

Andrew sat stiffly across from him and waited for Scary Lady to leave. She didn’t; instead she took up a post behind him and started scribbling on her clipboard. 

“So,” said Neil, relaxing back on the fancy couch he was sat on, “what did you think of the movie?” 

“Less funny than it thought it was,” shot back Andrew. 

Scary Lady made a disapproving sound. 

“Do you have any questions for me from the good readers of _Horse and Hound_?” asked Neil, still completely at ease. 

“...Yes,” said Andrew stiltedly. “Did… did you consider having... more horses in the movie?” 

“You know, I really wanted to,” said Neil. “As soon as I got the script I had a couple conversations with the producers and director about having at least one scene with a horse in it, but then they pointed out that it’s set _in space_.” 

Andrew wanted to throttle him. “So no horses, then?” he asked. “What about… what about hounds?” 

“In space?” 

“I’m sure there’s been a dog in space,” Andrew argued mulishly. “The Jetsons probably had one.” 

“I think they had a robot,” said Neil thoughtfully. “Although, I can see your point about dogs belonging in space. Imagine Rufus in a rocketship.” 

“Mr. Minyard,” cut in Scary Lady, her tone completely unimpressed. “You said you’ve seen the movie.” 

“I have,” said Andrew, not appreciating being called out as a liar. 

“What was your favorite part?” asked Neil, leaning forward eagerly. He seemed to be laughing at Andrew. 

Andrew froze for a moment. “Well…” he said, at length, “given that there were no horses or hounds, I guess my favorite part would have to be the one… that took place... in space.” He closed his eyes briefly in defeat. 

“Interesting,” said Neil, definitely laughing at Andrew now. Andrew wanted to punch him. And then kiss him until he was breathless with more than laughter. He was probably in more trouble than he’d thought. “Tell me more.” 

* * *

Neil finally let him off the hook, though it took another twenty minutes until Neil’s scarily efficient assistant released Neil into the balmy evening. They reconvened in the hotel lobby and Andrew’s stomach felt like a live jellyfish when he saw that Neil had shed his formal slacks and button-down shirt and was instead wearing flip-flops, faded shorts and a slouchy, impossibly soft-looking Queen t-shirt that sported several small holes and a mysterious stain. 

Andrew wasn’t sure what was wrong with him. He liked guys in sharp suits and designer clothes, unattainable models and athletes spread out over glossy magazine pages. The mussed, dimpled man in front of him who looked like he’d been dipped in fabric softener and whose curls stuck up in all the wrong directions should not have been doing anything for him. And yet. 

“Ready?” Neil asked, with that luminous, pillow-creased smile of his that made Andrew’s knees wave frantic white flags. 

“No,” Andrew said, “yes. Let’s get food first.” 

Neil slipped on a pair of large aviator sunglasses and tied a brutally orange bandanna around his head, trying in vain to shove his wild curls underneath the cloth. Andrew led them away from the hotel, but he was paying more attention to how close Neil was than where he was going. Neil was radiating warmth like pavement that had been soaking up the sun all day. He immediately launched into a rant, content to pick apart the latest book Andrew had given him while Andrew merely injected the occasional agreeing or disagreeing grunt. They wandered aimlessly for a while, immersing themselves in the noise of the late afternoon traffic, dodging passersby and their various dogs and shopping bags. It wasn’t even that hot and yet Andrew was sweating under his clothes, his sunglasses kept making a bid for freedom down the bridge of his nose, and the city was clogged with people, but somehow he still felt curiously at ease. 

They stopped at a taco truck down a side street and ordered enough food for a small army. Neil was faster at paying for it all, so Andrew valiantly carried everything over to a small table in the shade while Neil laughed and flip-flopped after him, trying to snatch the milkshakes from the tray without success. The cool breeze and the cold milkshake were a relief, and not even Neil’s awful choice in taco fillings or the distant, niggling reminder that Neil had a girlfriend could pop Andrew’s high spirits. 

“So did you grow up here?” Neil asked around a mouthful of shredded meat. He’d meticulously picked out all the bits of cilantro, which littered the edge of his paper plate like abstract art. 

“No,” Andrew said, squeezing more lime over his portion. “I hopped all over the Bay area.” 

At Neil’s questioning gaze, he added: “Foster kid. Got shuffled around a lot.” 

“That sucks,” Neil said, licking a smear of sauce from his bottom lip. Andrew shrugged and stuffed the rest of his taco into his mouth to keep himself from saying something entirely inappropriate about sucking. 

They finished up and sorted their trash before walking the half-block to the gardens. Neil was quiet for once, but it was an easy sort of silence. They turned in at the little butterfly garden, which was alight with butterflies of all colors, and children, just as bright, zooming through. One in a dinosaur shirt tripped over a paving stone and almost fell; Andrew reached out a hand automatically and steadied them, releasing them without a word once they were stable. The kid ran off, and Neil gave Andrew a peculiar look. 

“What?” 

But Neil didn’t answer beyond a tiny shrug. There was something almost… wistful in his face for a moment, but then a butterfly flitted past his nose and the expression dissipated. They made their way across the lawn, dodging people playing Frisbee, until they reached the waterfall. 

“Oh! There’s pictures behind the water!” Neil darted along the pathway, Andrew trailing him, until they were behind the falls, nothing but the roaring of the water reaching their ears. Neil stopped dead, staring up at the words etched in glass, long fingers playing with the sunglasses he’d removed to better see the memorial. There was something beautiful and sad and scraped raw in his face, as if someone had taken steel wool to his actor mask and revealed the truth lying underneath. 

Andrew read over the words he’d memorized a decade ago. _The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy._ Neil moved onto the next panel, and the next, lingering the longest over the picture of Dr. King giving his “I have a dream” speech. Andrew searched for something to say, anything, and much to his dismay what came out was, “You playing him in a movie?” 

A laugh startled out of Neil. “You think I would dare try to play Martin Luther King in a movie?” 

“I mean, there’s probably a Hollywood exec out there stupid enough to think that’s a good idea.” 

“That is just wrong on so many levels, I can’t even.” Neil was still laughing as they went up the stairs, greeted by bed after bed of cheerful flowers, and finally settled on one of the benches. He leaned back on his hands as he looked out over the garden below, the silence broken by the squeals of children and the low rumble of traffic. 

“Do you ever get so used to playing a role you don’t even know who you are anymore?” Neil asked softly. Andrew hummed; he had tried to do that, years ago, but had never really succeeded. There was a wry smile playing on Neil’s mouth as he watched people walking by, each wrapped up in their own tiny world. “I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t acting. Even before I was ever in front of a camera.” 

“Sounds exhausting.” 

Neil gave a humorless laugh. “I’ve been tired for twenty years.” 

There was no response to give. Andrew mimicked Neil’s posture, his pinky brushing up against Neil’s hand by accident when he leaned back. But Neil didn’t pull away, didn’t move, didn’t speak, and together they watched the city pass by. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hey thank you all so much for reading and we love hearing your thoughts! So excited to see what you think of this one...

“I’ve got to tell you something.”

Andrew paused at Neil’s words and suppressed a grimace. Considering how many tabloids were speculating that Neil and his girlfriend were newly engaged—a photograph of a large sparkly rock on Allison Reynolds’ ring finger had been captured the week previous—he wasn’t looking forward to whatever Neil had to say. It wasn’t that he actively read celebrity gossip, but the large photos of Neil’s face splashed across tabloids had been hard to miss in the check-out aisle of his local grocery store.

“After dessert,” he said. Neil had been thoughtful and distant for the past week or so and Andrew had organized something to cheer him up. He didn’t want Neil’s news to ruin it before he could.

Neil looked at him skeptically. “Dessert,” he deadpanned in reply.

“Don’t be so dubious,” said Andrew, unearthing a box of treats from Heaven’s Kitchen, baked up by Renee herself. “These are for me,” he explained. “And for you...” he handed Neil a nondescript paper bag.

Neil opened it cautiously and laughed, which was the response Andrew had been hoping for.

“A pear,” said Neil, mirth dripping from the word, as he placed a single Anjou pear on the counter, “and cheese.” A wedge of plain gouda followed. “This is not exactly what I had in mind.”

“It’s not my fault you have bad taste,” shrugged Andrew, carefully selecting one of the fudge brownies from his box of goodies.

“Hey, Andrew, did we ever get that shipment from—” Nicky walked out of the back room and stopped with a shocked squeak. Andrew hadn’t been aware Nicky was even in the shop.

Neil’s face took on the pleasant neutral expression he wore in public. Andrew sighed as he turned to face Nicky; he was extremely lucky that neither Nicky nor Matt had happened across Neil until now. He’d known it was only a matter of time.

“Nicky,” said Andrew, more than a hint of warning in his tone, “this is Neil.”

“Josten,” supplied Nicky instantly, stepping forward to shake one of Neil’s hands in both of his. “Hi. I’m a fan. Big fan.”

“Nicky,” grumbled Andrew.

Nicky looked back and forth between them. “Ah,” he said. “Yes. I’ll… leave you alone. It’s really nice to meet you. Also, I was just watching _What’s Eating Gilbert Grape_ last week, and can I just say that you were terrific in it? Just, so good. And when you were so young! How did you prepare for the role?”

“Um,” said Neil, his eyes flashing with humour, “I think I was about six when that movie came out.”

“Really?” asked Nicky, his eyes wide. “You looked much older.”

“That’s because I wasn’t in it,” said Neil politely. “You must be thinking of Leonardo DiCaprio.”

“Right,” said Nicky, nodding his head vigorously. Andrew doubted he was actually listening to anything Neil was saying. “Good to…” he trailed off and then turned and walked into the back room, closing the door forcefully behind him.

Andrew attempted not to die on the spot from mortification. “That’s my cousin, Nicky.”

“He seems nice,” said Neil brightly. “I think—”

He was cut off by muffled screaming coming from the back room.

“He’s not fit to be around people,” explained Andrew.

Neil laughed. “It’s alright. That’s actually the way most people react to me—although the Leonardo DiCaprio thing is new. Unlike you, they don’t start off by insulting my taste.”

“But your taste is so terrible, my darling Brussels sprout,” said a woman’s rich, throaty voice.

Neil’s entire face lit up as he spun to face the woman standing just inside the entrance. “Alli!” he cried. “I thought you were coming tomorrow.”

Allison Reynolds didn’t answer right away, instead delicately taking off her sunglasses and peering about Andrew’s shop with unconcealed interest. Andrew’s hackles raised as her expression changed minutely, as if she had smelled a pungent odor. “I changed my flight; I got you on Kimmel tomorrow,” she said, walking farther into the shop on her frankly preposterous stiletto heels. “We fly out tonight.”

“Oh,” said Neil, drooping and turning back to Andrew.

“You’re leaving?” Andrew asked, unable to keep the dismay completely out of his voice.

“Principal photography wrapped last week,” Neil told him dully. “I’ve got a press tour for my space dog movie and then I start shooting somewhere else.”

“What do you mean, space dogs?” asked Allison Reynolds, giving Andrew a shrewd look. “There weren’t any dogs in that movie.”

Neil gave Andrew a lopsided half-grin. “Much to the dismay of the readers of _Horse and Hound_. Wait,” he said, turning back to his girlfriend. “How did you know I’m here? Are you tracking my phone again?”

Allison Reynolds examined her (perfectly manicured) nails. “Does it count as ‘again’ if I never stopped in the first place?”

Neil gave her a flat look.

“What?” she asked, not sounding apologetic in the least. “How else am I supposed to find you? You’re too good at running and hiding, my dear broccoli floret. Anyway, chop chop. We’ve got a plane to catch.”

“Right,” said Neil, sounding lost. He looked exactly how forlorn Andrew felt. He addressed Andrew again, “Any suggestions for a book to read on the plane?”

Andrew moved mechanically. It was stupid to feel so bereft; he’d always known that Neil was temporary. Heading between two bookshelves, he breathed deeply to keep his composure. Unfortunately, Allison Reynolds took the opportunity to follow him.

“So,” she said, giving him a once over that made him feel even shorter than he already did standing next to her six foot stature, “you’re Bookshop Guy.” Her look was knowing. Doubtless he wasn’t the first person who was into her boyfriend. He wondered if she could tell that he was different; that it wasn’t Neil’s fame or his looks that had him hooked. That he’d seen glimpses of the Real Neil and wanted him anyway. He knew she couldn’t possibly be threatened; it was so obvious as they stood side-by-side, her a flawless beauty queen and him a schlubby bookseller. She was the one who fit into Neil’s life. Still, he was expecting a rebuke from her. Instead what she said was, “He was right about the shoulders.”

He stared at her uncomprehendingly.

She tsked in annoyance. “I protect him,” she said pointedly, and turned on her heel to head back to Neil.

Less than five minutes later, she was efficiently ushering him out of Andrew’s life forever. Neil waved from the doorway, smiling wistfully and clutching a copy of _What’s Eating Gilbert Grape_ to his chest.

* * *

Andrew was not moping.

It was pure coincidence that he was cocooned in three blankets on his sofa on a Sunday night, eating his way through an entire box of boozy chocolates, drinking bad wine and watching the newest Neil Josten interview compilation. None of it had anything to do with the fact that Neil had been gone for two weeks; the video had most likely come up because Matt kept borrowing Andrew’s laptop.

“Hey,” Matt said, closing the door behind him and immediately starting to shuck off his clothes. “Bad day?”

Andrew ignored him and poured himself more wine. Matt stretched until his spine popped, exposing glorious abs, then went to grab a beer from the fridge and threw himself down next to Andrew on the sofa to peer at his laptop.

“Ohh, celebrity thirst tweets!”

He reached over to turn the volume up. Andrew, whose hands were tangled in one of his blankets, had to watch helplessly as Neil rummaged around a jar of printed tweets with his tongue poking out between his lips, his newly-dyed curls artfully ruffled. He’d worn the same soft, stripey sweater the last time Andrew had seen him, though this time it was paired with sinfully tight skinny jeans.

“Right,” Neil said, scrunching up his face as he unfolded the first paper slip and read: “ _I want Neil Josten’s cheekbones to cut me into curly fries._ ”

“Same,” Matt sighed.

“This person has terrible taste, curly fries suck,” Neil was saying on-screen before flinging the paper slip behind himself. “Moving on. _My sexual awakening was seeing Neil Josten throw knives in The Butcher._ Hmm, maybe you should talk to a therapist about that.”

“He didn’t even have a stunt double or anything,” Matt stage-whispered. “He did it all himself because he’s just naturally that good.”

Andrew doubted he was naturally good at throwing knives and thought it was more likely he’d taken lessons, but he didn’t want to shatter Matt’s dreams.

“ _I want to give Neil Josten things,_ ” Neil continued in a deadpan voice. “ _Like blankets, blowjobs and fudge brownies._ I don’t even like sweets, but thanks I guess.”

“Hear that?” Matt chuckled. “He doesn’t like sweets, but he didn’t say anything about the blowjobs.”

“ _My ideal weight is Neil Josten on top of me_ ,” Neil read. “Cool. Okay. That’s kind of sweet, but also kind of weird.”

“Oh my god,” Matt whispered, gripping the armrest so hard the leather creaked under his fingers. “Oh my god, that was mine. Neil Josten read one of my thirst tweets. Oh my god. I can die a happy man now, oh my god.”

“Shh,” Andrew said, nearly missing the next tweet.

“ _I’d pay for Neil Josten to insult me like one of the paparazzi_ ,” Neil read, then dropped the paper slip with a shrug. “Sounds like a you problem. _I want to slather Neil Josten in honey and mayonnaise and—_ honey and mayonnaise? Really? And I thought the brownies were off-putting. Wow. _Neil Josten in a suit is a wet dream on legs. He can step on me any time._ Or you could get off the internet and do something worthwhile with your life, but okay.”

“The things I would let him do to me,” Matt sighed.

“Well, that was a waste of time,” Neil said cheerfully, throwing the last paper slip away. “You know what I’d really like to read? Creative death threats, now that would be fun.”

Andrew shoved the last chocolate in his mouth and tried not to think about the things he’d let Neil Josten do to him. There was a second part to the interview where Neil lounged on a couch in his stupid stripey sweater, feet crossed loosely at the ankles and hands behind his head as he answered boring, banal questions about his latest movie. Then the interviewer changed tack and started to probe about his personal life, and Neil shifted his stance, drumming his fingers as if measuring out his waning patience.

“So you don’t have a special someone?” the interviewer was saying, leaning conspiratorially into his space.

“No,” Neil said curtly, shifting minutely away from her.

“What about—” Andrew tried, but Matt hushed him so loudly they nearly missed the next bit.

“It must be difficult to maintain a love life when you’re constantly moving from place to place,” the interviewer cooed, miming sympathy. “If you could go on a date with any woman in the world, who would you choose?”

“No one,” Neil said blandly.

“What about—” Andrew attempted again, but Matt’s withering glare shut him up a second time.

“How about a man?” the interviewer said mischievously, winking at the camera. Matt grabbed a fistful of Andrew’s blanket and made a choked noise.

“No,” Neil said again. “I have no interest in anyone like that. My career is my main priority right now.”

Matt visibly and audibly deflated.

“What about Reynolds?” Andrew finally got in.

“Apparently that was a dud,” Matt muttered.

“Neil, darling,” the interviewer burbled, leaning close again and reaching out as if to put her hand on his thigh. Neil moved his leg at the last moment and her hand fell on the sofa instead. “You’re among friends here. Surely you can tell us?”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Neil insisted wearily. Andrew realized that his hands had been clenched tightly in the blanket the whole time and he made a conscious effort to relax them.

“What about your fans?” the woman tried. “I’m told you have a large following among the LGBT community. There’s been a lot of speculating ever since Allison Reynolds was caught with another woman. You could be an icon! Don’t you owe it to them to—”

“Look,” Neil snapped, “as I keep saying, I’ve never met anyone who’s piqued my interest. I don’t owe anyone anything. Trying to out someone against their will is despicable, but there’s nothing in my metaphorical closet that you can drag out. So you can stop the charade and just admit that you only care about stirring up another tired old scandal before you drop off the radar when your show inevitably gets cut for being a steaming pile of human excrement.”

There was a ringing silence as the woman stared at him, flabbergasted.

“Besides,” said Neil, loosening his shoulders and granting her a winning smile, “how am I not representing the LGBT community? There’s an asexual pride flag, isn’t there?”

The interviewer’s offense mostly melted in the face of Neil’s easy charisma, although she still appeared shaken by his words. They spent the next few minutes chatting awkwardly before she wrapped up the interview.

* * *

Andrew’s phone rang just as he climbed into bed and he answered it without looking who it was. The majority of the people he cared about were accident-prone disasters so late night calls had the potential to be an actual emergency. Or Kevin was lost downtown again.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” said Neil’s voice.

“Neil?” asked Andrew, taking the phone away from his ear and staring at it. It was an unknown number with an area code he didn’t recognize. “How did you get my number?”

“I’m wily,” replied Neil. “You can’t expect me to reveal all my secrets.”

Andrew didn’t know what to say. He’d never expected to see Neil again and he certainly hadn’t expected a phone call from him.

“...Is it not okay I called?” Neil asked hesitantly. “Just, I finally have some time to myself this morning and I really wanted to talk to you.”

“It’s fine,” said Andrew immediately, despite loathing speaking on the phone. For Neil he would. “Morning? Where are you?”

“London,” groaned Neil. “I meant to call earlier, but I’ve been swamped. So many interviews. All asking the same goddamn questions over and over.”

“I saw one of them,” Andrew said, instead of admitting that he’d seen all of Neil’s recent interviews. That seemed pitiful.

“Which one?” Neil asked, sounding intrigued.

“The woman interviewing you smiled like a particularly famished shark.”

“Kathy Ferdinand?”

“You also had to read thirst tweets.”

“Yeah, Kathy Ferdinand,” Neil sighed gustily. “I hate that woman.”

“On the plus side, one of the tweets you read was from my roommate and he’s now able to die a happy man.”

“Glad to be of service,” said Neil dryly. “As long as he never tries to act on it. He doesn’t have a chance.”

“You could do worse,” snapped Andrew, abruptly protective. Neil didn’t have to be so dismissive about potentially dating a regular, everyday person. Then, too late, he remembered the interview where Neil said he wasn’t interested in dating anyone.

Before he could explain away his sudden defensiveness, Neil cautiously asked, “Oh, uh… is he your roommate or your euphemistic roommate?”

Andrew choked on air. “You know how some people are just like their pets?”

“Well, Bux does growl at strangers and spends all his time hiding in your bookshelves…”

“Exactly. And Matt owns Rufus.”

Neil chuckled, warm and low, sending a jolt through Andrew’s gut. “I don’t know, maybe you’re into that. Maybe well-intentioned stupidity is what gets you going.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Good to know.” Neil cleared his throat. “Not that I’ve spent any time wondering about what attracts you. Anyway, what did you think of the interview? Allison always complains I don’t smile enough but when I do she says I look like a serial killer.”

“She’s not wrong.”

“Good. It’s working then.”

Andrew’s mouth twitched as he remembered that stupid Kathy Ferdinand woman leaning in while Neil looked ready to rip her throat out with his teeth. “Unfortunately, some people are into that.”

“Yeah, well, some people are in serious need of professional help.”

“Says the person who wants to read creative death threats.”

There was a rustling sound, and then chewing came through the line. “C’mon,” Neil said, voice muffled. “You’ve got to admit, it would be fun.”

“I mean, what are you considering creative? Are you a fan of the ‘I’m going to carve your heart out with a spoon’ type threat? Or more of the, ‘There’s going to be a death in your family, and you will find yourself in possession of a small plot of land,’ variety?”

Neil choked on a laugh, or maybe it was a bite of food. “Hmm, those aren’t bad,” he said, when he’d regained his breath. “The specificity of the first one is nice, but the last one is subtle. Tasteful, even. I like it.”

Gandalf picked that moment to jump up onto the bed, headbutting the phone right out of Andrew’s hand. “Oh for fuck’s sake, Gandy.”

“What?” came Neil’s voice, tinny through the tiny speaker. Andrew reached for the phone, but Gandalf flopped down on it, purring.

“You are a menace,” Andrew scolded the big rangy cat as he scooped him up off the bed, tucking him under one arm and swiping the phone with the other.

“So I’ve been told,” Neil said. Andrew could hear the smile in his voice. “What happened?”

“Gandalf takes people talking on phones as a personal insult.”

Neil hummed. “Gandalf? Like after that movie wizard?”

It was Andrew’s turn to choke. “Movie wizard? Gandalf is one of the most significant figures in fantasy literature, and Tolkien didn’t completely change the role of wizards in myth just to have him dismissed—Wait. You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”

That laugh, that fucking laugh. How was it possible that a laugh from six thousand miles away could make Andrew go all squishy inside? Nothing made him go squishy. He was decidedly anti-squish. Pulling Gandalf up to his face, he let the long whiskers tickle his cheek, trying to find some sort of tether to reality.

“I am,” Neil said, and his voice was warm and husky and perfect. “But I’d love to hear you go off about Tolkien sometime.” There was a noise in the background; someone calling Neil’s name with a strong British accent. “But not now. I have to go do yet another interview. Just kill me, would you?”

“I need to think of a creative enough way. Wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something,” Neil said, and with that he was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your comments, we love hearing from you!

“We are going out,” Matt told Andrew on a drizzly Saturday night, dumping Andrew’s second hottest leather jacket on him. Andrew, who had spent the afternoon staring at his phone and willing it to ring, lifted his head from the table and glared. 

“I’m busy.” 

“Busy pining over your secret boyfriend, you mean,” Matt said, shrugging. “Come on, I got us tickets to the new Josten movie.” 

“Secret what,” Andrew said. 

Matt rolled his eyes. 

“I know you like to insult my intelligence, but I’m not blind, you know? Everyone’s noticed you’ve been preoccupied and secretive, even Kevin. Either you’re planning a murder, or you’ve caught feelings for a guy and hate yourself for it.” 

Andrew sighed and dropped his head back down on his arms. 

“It might be the murder,” he tried. 

“Even murderers need light-hearted entertainment every once in a while. I’ll buy you popcorn,” Matt offered. “And ice-cream.” 

“There aren’t even any dogs in the movie,” Andrew said petulantly, but still pulled himself out of his miserable slump and put on his jacket. Matt looked on, amused. 

“Since when do you care about that?” 

Andrew didn’t deign to answer and instead checked his phone one last time. Neil was probably busy. In a fit of pettiness, Andrew tossed the phone back down and left it behind. 

“Smart,” Matt commented approvingly. “Leave him hanging a bit, create an air of mystery. You can never be too available or they’ll lose interest.” 

“I want the largest thing of popcorn they have,” Andrew grumbled, grabbing his keys. “And that expensive caramel ice-cream.” 

“You got it,” Matt grinned. “And if you, at any point, feel like talking to someone about your mystery man, like how you met or the size of his dick… you know I’m always here for you.” 

* * *

They came back late from the cinema, because Matt had persuaded Andrew to have a drink with him at a nearby bar, which had turned into five drinks and a progressively drunk Matt getting his ass kicked at both darts and pool by a still reasonably sober Andrew. For a while, Andrew had barely even thought about Neil. Stopping Matt from hugging everyone in the bar and getting him home in one piece had been pretty distracting. Andrew heaved him into bed and went to get a glass of water and some painkillers for the next morning, and when he came back Matt was stark naked and fast asleep, snoring profusely. How he’d managed to rid himself of his clothes when he hadn’t even been able to open the door by himself earlier was beyond Andrew, but he yanked a blanket over him and left him to sleep it off. 

As he walked back to his room in the half-dark, his phone lit up on the coffee table where he’d left it. He picked it up and sank into the depths of the sofa, trying to swallow down the spark of excitement when he spotted two missed calls and several messages from Neil. 

**Famous Snacktor Neil Josten:** Two more weeks of this shit and then I’m done this movie has taken forever 

**Famous Snacktor Neil Josten:** Alli wants me to go do some stupid photo shoot for charity. She told me I’m expected to smile and play nice it’s like she doesn’t know me at all 

**Famous Snacktor Neil Josten:** I tried. I tried reading lotr I swear. But I just can’t make myself care about hobbit genealogy 

**Famous Snacktor Neil Josten:** Are you ok? 

**Famous Snacktor Neil Josten:** Omg you’re sleeping 

**Famous Snacktor Neil Josten:** You’re sleeping and I’m pinging you I’ll stop 

Andrew couldn’t stop the warmth that spread through him as he read the words. It was just the residual whiskey, of course, seeping its way into his bloodstream an hour after his last drink. He checked the time; eight a.m. in Macedonia. The past couple months had familiarized him with time zones while Neil hopped around shooting his next movie. Something to do with submarines, but why they were shooting a movie about submarines in a landlocked country Andrew had no idea. 

His thumb found Neil’s contact without his input, and suddenly he was holding the phone against his ear. “Hobbit genealogy is important,” he said as soon as the line went live. 

“I’ve been reading the same thirty pages for three weeks, Andrew. Hell, I think I’ve been reading the same six paragraphs. I just can’t do it.” 

“Weakling.” 

Neil hummed in agreement. “Tell Gandalf I’m sorry I failed him.” 

“Eh, skip ahead to Bilbo’s birthday party, that’s when it actually gets interesting.” 

“Asshole, you couldn’t have just told me that?” There was a brief, companionable silence. Snoring echoed down the hallway, and Andrew wasn’t sure if it was coming from Matt or Rufus. Neil gave a tiny sigh, as if he was settling deeper into his chair. “Did you do anything fun tonight?” 

“My not-a-euphemism dragged me out to a movie, then we got a couple drinks.” 

“See anything good?” 

“Just some movie about space. It was sadly lacking in hounds, though.” 

Neil laughed. “Can’t believe that thing is still playing. What’d you think? I mean, aside from the lack of dogs.” 

“You sure ran around a lot.” He did not add how much Matt—and he—had appreciated that fact. “I thought the ripped spacesuit was a particularly intriguing detail.” 

“Oh, you mean because of the whole, I would have died instantly thing? Yeah, believe me, that discussion was had.” 

Andrew laughed, startling Bux out of his hiding spot beneath the ottoman. “I mean, it’s not trying to be Austen.” 

“I have a confession,” Neil stage-whispered, sending a tiny thrill down Andrew’s spine. “I’ve never read Austen. Never even saw one of the movies.” 

“And you call yourself a Brit?” 

“I don’t, actually,” Neil said, with the flattest middle-American accent Andrew had ever heard. 

“But I thought—” Andrew stopped himself; he couldn’t easily admit he’d watched every single interview Neil had ever done, which inevitably involved a British accent that did not at all get under Andrew’s skin. “I thought you just did a really good American accent.” 

“I do. Several of them.” There was an audible grin, just a tiny crinkle noise that was something Andrew had never heard before meeting Neil, and he wished he could see it. “My mum’s English, my sperm donor’s American. She left him when I was eight, but we lived in Baltimore until then. So I grew up half in America, half in England.” 

“In a Christie-style manor house,” supplied Andrew, remembering one of their earliest conversations. 

“But with significantly fewer murders, sadly,” said Neil. “A murder or two would have really livened things up.” There was a rustling sound through the phone as he presumably shifted position. “It wasn’t bad, per se, just lonely. My uncle is agoraphobic and my mum’s paranoid. I wasn’t allowed out and I certainly wasn’t allowed to interact with anyone. I used to host tea parties in the drawing room and invite all the furniture. I played all the parts; I think my favorite was Mr. Lampshade.” His accent turned British—one of the extremely refined-sounding types. “He was such a posh tool.” 

“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” deadpanned Andrew. 

“What, your childhood friends weren’t furniture?” teased Neil. “I guess in foster care there were lots of other kids around.” 

“That’s true…” said Andrew slowly. He curled on his side; he didn’t like talking about his childhood, but it felt right to share with Neil. “I never really fit in with them. I bounced from home to home and none of them were good but some were worse than others. I used books to escape; they were my best friends.” 

“What about your brother?” 

“We didn’t meet until I was thirteen and it didn’t go well at first. I moved in with him and his mother—or my egg donor, I guess, if we’re using your terminology—but we didn’t get along. I think at that point we’d both wanted a brother and imagined him so many times that we were disappointed with the real thing.” 

It wasn’t something he’d ever admitted out loud: how excited he’d been when he found out he had a twin and how lacking and weak he’d initially found Aaron. It had taken them both years to accept each other as they were. 

Neil hummed in response. A beeping sound came through his end of the call. “Damn, that’s my ten minute warning,” he said. “I’m not going to be sorry to finish filming; this whole thing is turning into a bit of a clusterfuck.” 

“Are you there for much longer?” asked Andrew. 

“Until the second week of December.” 

“And then what?” 

“And then I’m free until the press tour for the movie I was shooting when I met you starts up near the end of January.” 

“What are you going to do? Go home?” asked Andrew, already working out the time difference to England. 

“I don’t have a home,” said Neil, something strange in his voice. “I see my mum sometimes when I’m in England, but I have no desire to return to that mausoleum. Nah, I’ll probably end up at Alli’s unless I get a better offer.” 

Andrew wasn’t sure what to make of that. A better offer from whom? He knew from their recent conversations that Neil regarded Allison as his big sister and loved spending time with her. “How did you meet her, anyway?” 

“Who, Allison?” asked Neil after a strange pause. “On the set of _The Butcher_. That was during her short-lived attempt at acting; she was stunt cast as something like Murdered Girl #3. God, that show was misogynistic.” 

“Never saw it.” 

“You’re not missing much. It was a well-produced glorification of abuse and violence against women. It was really hard to get into character—Wesninski’s completely fictional but he was real to me. I always felt like garbage after a day of shooting.” 

Andrew hummed to indicate he was still listening. 

“Luckily it was a limited run series and it made me famous enough that I could be choosier about which roles I took.” 

“And you chose space and submarines?” 

“Hey, the submarines are a favor for a friend and the pay is obscene,” laughed Neil. “Allison’s always on my case about taking more serious dramas. She’s been nagging me since we met; she bullied her way into talking to me and after about three sentences declared me hopeless and adopted me.” His voice was warm now, and fond. “It’s probably good for me that she did. I don’t think I could have made it without her as my publicist. She’s been famous since before she could talk so she helped me navigate all the shit that comes along with it.” He sighed. “She’s my only real friend. Although, I guess I have you now, too.” 

Andrew’s chest felt tight and he didn’t know what to say. They lapsed into companionable silence. 

“Well, I’d better let you go,” said Neil, sounding reluctant. “You should be sleeping. And I’ve got to go spout horrible dialogue while running around with my shirt off for some contrived reason.” 

Andrew closed his eyes to imagine it—it wasn’t even difficult to do so, thanks to the numerous directors over the years who’d agreed that Neil taking his shirt off on film was the greatest idea anyone had ever had. 

“So, I should skip to Bilbo’s birthday party? And then Austen? Do you have any recommendations?” 

“Start with anything other than _Mansfield Park_ ,” said Andrew. “The main characters are impossible to like.” He realized his mistake as soon as Neil made an intrigued noise. “That wasn’t a challenge.” 

“Of course it wasn’t,” said Neil magnanimously. The alarm sounded again on his end. “Now I’ve really got to go. Sleep well; I’ll text you later.” 

* * *

Thanksgiving came and went, and suddenly it was December. 

Andrew was tired. This time of year always came with dusty old baggage and the bookshop was busier than usual. He never knew what to get everyone for Christmas and the crowds had him fleeing downtown in favor of online shopping, resulting in the occasional all-nighter trying to choose the right bottle of outrageously expensive whiskey for his brother and inevitably getting distracted down the Wikipedia rabbit hole. 

Neil was wrapped up in the last leg of filming, but he still found time to text Andrew occasional late-night thoughts and comments on the chapter he was currently reading. Andrew kept his phone on him at all times, though work kept him busy, even if most of it was trying to avoid Nicky’s incessant singing and having errant Christmas decorations dumped on his head. Matt took charge of covering their entire apartment in string lights and questionable ornaments as usual, but he was home a lot less ever since he’d met some new woman who’d turned his head so thoroughly he even forgot to keep up to date on all things Neil Josten. 

The day Neil was supposed to wrap up, he dropped off the radar. They’d been in the middle of a thrilling argument about elves when Andrew’s messages stopped going through. Andrew knew by now that Neil tended to forget to charge his phone and tried to shift his focus back to his own book, but he remained distracted when he didn’t hear anything else for the rest of the day. 

Around ten, Matt texted to let him know he was staying the night with his girl. Andrew checked his chat with Neil again, but his last message still hadn’t gone through. He sighed and let his phone drop on the floor, then heaved himself upright, surveying the living room. Stacks of books marked the floor like signposts. Sticky notes had exploded everywhere, courtesy of Andrew’s latest idea for a novel he was never going to write. Discarded clothes, most of them Matt’s, had mingled with candy wrappers, pizza boxes and pine needles from the tree Matt insisted on getting every year. Most of their combined CD collection had migrated on top of the CD player and the whole cacophony was topped off with a new volley of cat toys in Christmassy colors. 

Andrew picked half-heartedly at the mess for a bit and rediscovered a tin of marzipan hot chocolate that Bee had sent over. He wandered into the kitchen to warm up some milk for it and turned on the radio. Last Christmas seemed to follow him even when he changed the stations and he sighed, letting George Michael croon his heart out as he sipped his hot chocolate and admired the garland of glittery paper dicks, boobs and asses that Matt had strung up across the window. He’d really outdone himself this year. 

There were dishes soaking in the sink, the floor boasted several unidentifiable stains visible even in the dim glow of the string lights that Matt had draped everywhere, and Andrew had left a trail of hot chocolate mix traipsing across the counter. Maybe Andrew should do his part and clean the place up a bit more. 

He’d just plunged his hands decisively into the dishwater when the doorbell rang. 

“Of fucking course,” Andrew muttered, looking around for a dish towel. Matt must have put them all in the laundry earlier because there were none in sight, so he wiped his hands awkwardly on his sweatpants, leaving two large wet patches on the fabric. 

The doorbell rang again. It was probably Nicky, who sometimes forgot his keys and crashed on Andrew’s and Matt’s couch when Erik wasn’t home, though he claimed Matt’s habit of walking around naked was too much for his poor gay heart to take on a regular basis. 

He made his way to the door, nearly stumbling over their Roomba which was desperately trying to navigate its way out between three stacks of books, and shoved his bare feet into the pair of outrageously fluffy slippers that Nicky had given him as a birthday present. Just as he was fumbling for the buzzer, a knock sounded from outside the apartment door. 

“Andrew? Are you home?” 

“Neil?” 

Andrew opened the door. There, in all his rain-drenched, sheepish glory, stood Neil with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a soggy paper bag from Heaven’s Kitchen tucked under his elbow. 

“Hey,” he said. “I brought dessert.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments and reactions continue to sustain us, please know that we cherish each and every one of them! Also, in an exciting turn of events, you may have noticed this fic now has an audio version - aptly titled podficast as it's somewhere between a podfic and a podcast - recorded by the lovely Cory and her charming co-hosts. You can find the link at the end of this chapter and we strongly recommend giving it a go, it's so much fun!

When Andrew was a teenager, he had been prone to extremely vivid dreams. He could still remember some of them, with the super-saturated colors, the surround sound, even smells and tastes sometimes. They always started out realistic, and then took a twist into the absurd or the macabre, just enough to leave him with a lingering unsettled feeling when he startled awake into the darkness of his room. 

A change in his medication had allowed things to go back to normal in the dreams department. It had been years since he’d had to deal with this, so why was he now dreaming in such exquisite detail that he could smell Neil’s shampoo, freshened by the rain? And see the impossible blue of his eyes, even the reddish tips of his lashes? It was just unfair, he lectured his subconscious, to dredge this up now. 

Dream-Andrew glanced down, and sure enough, he somehow had one of Matt’s holey socks stuck to his sweatpant leg. Before he could furtively pick it off, Rufus borked from the depths of the apartment, and then there was the sound of a hundred and fifty pounds of dog galumphing across wood. And Dream-Andrew wasn’t able to move quickly enough to prevent the domino-reaction of Rufus crashing into the backs of his legs, sending him tumbling into Neil. 

Who was, decidedly, real. This fact proved itself in the tiny _oof_ he gave as he tried to hold up dog-plus-Andrew, and in the damp chill of his skin, and in the give of his sneaker when Andrew stepped on his foot as they stumbled backwards into the hallway. Andrew did his best to cage his arms around Neil, to keep him from getting crushed as they toppled to the floor. The end result was that they ended up in a tangled heap of arms and legs, Neil shaking where he had his face pressed against Andrew’s shoulder. 

Shaking with laughter, it turned out when Andrew managed to scoot far enough away to take inventory. Neil’s cheeks were a delicious shade of red, and his shirt had rucked up to reveal a sliver of skin that Andrew longed to bury his face into, but he appeared unharmed. The same could not be said for whatever concoction he had brought from Heaven’s Kitchen; a chocolate stain was seeping through the paper where it had fallen underneath them. Meanwhile Rufus stood frozen above them staring in horror at the expanse of stairs that yawned nearby, oblivious to the havoc he had just wreaked. 

“I was hoping you’d be glad to see me, but I wasn't expecting such an enthusiastic reception,” laughed Neil. 

Andrew could feel his face heating. “That could not have more clearly been the dog’s fault,” he said. He detangled himself and stood, forcibly directing Rufus’ attention away from the Stairs of Doom. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his surprise at Neil being real making his words more sharp than he’d intended. 

“Oh,” said Neil, levering himself off the floor, “I thought… never mind, I can go.” 

Andrew put up a hand to stop him, catching himself before he grabbed him. “I didn’t mean that how it sounded. I thought you were heading to Allison’s?” 

Neil shrugged and avoided eye contact. “She throws a million parties full of strangers at this time of year. I just wanted somewhere quiet.” 

“And you came here?” asked Andrew incredulously, something molten cracking in his chest. 

“...Yes?” said Neil, sounding unsure. 

“Here, with Rufus and all the cats and my perpetually naked roommate?” 

Neil hoisted his duffel bag. “It’s fine, really. I was going to get a hotel, anyway. I just wanted to see you first.” 

“Stay here,” offered Andrew, not wanting Neil to leave. “It’s both small and a disaster, but you’re welcome.” 

“If you’re sure,” wavered Neil. 

“Fair warning that my friends all insist on togetherness and being social,” said Andrew. “Tomorrow night we’ve got our Christmas cocktail night at Heaven’s Kitchen, then Dan always plans an outing—I think she was threatening to go ice skating this year. Kevin and Thea make us participate in a gingerbread house decorating contest where we drink a lot and inevitably get into arguments which leads to the Annual Airing of Grievances. Christmas itself is spent at Nicky and Erik’s for our gift exchange and a literal mountain of food, a couple days later I host a sit-in in the book shop where we drink tea and eat cookies, and it’s all topped off by us all crowding into my brother and sister-in-law’s tiny apartment to play Exploding Kittens and ring in the new year.” 

“Okay,” said Neil slowly, blinking as he took in the information. “I can make myself scarce at those times.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’ll come with me,” said Andrew, before realizing how demanding he sounded and backtracking. “If you want to. You don’t have to. You probably don’t want to.” 

“I want to, but I don’t want to intrude,” said Neil. “It sounds like a family thing.” 

“It is,” agreed Andrew. “None of us had good families growing up, so we made our own. You won’t be intruding. Anyone’s allowed to bring a guest; Matt’s probably going to be bringing his girlfriend and I think Dan said she was inviting the guy she’s been seeing.” 

Neil’s face creased into the sunny smile that made Andrew’s breath catch in his throat. “Then, yes. I’d love to meet your friends.” 

Andrew smiled back at him before realizing that they were still standing in the hallway outside his apartment, grinning at each other like a pair of dopes. He ushered Neil inside and grimaced at the mess he’d momentarily forgotten. Oh, well, there wasn’t much he could do about it now. 

“Do you want a drink? Cocoa? Tea?” he offered. 

“Tea sounds great,” said Neil, punctuated with a yawn. “I have no idea what time it is anymore; I’ve been travelling for what feels like days.” 

Andrew headed into the kitchen while Neil picked his way carefully around the piles of books, stopping to take in the Christmas decorations. 

“Classy,” he said approvingly. Before cooing in appreciation. “Look at you, hard at work. Aren’t you precious?” His voice took on the high pitched tone that he only used when speaking to the cats. Andrew looked over to see which of the cats had gotten his attention and his heart seized as he saw Neil bend over to pet the Roomba. He refused to find it adorable. Idiotic grown men were not adorable. 

Andrew focused on putting on the kettle to boil and measuring out the tea leaves (and surreptitiously tidying the dishes by shoving them out of sight). He closed his eyes and willed himself self-control as Neil let out a pornographic groan as he collapsed onto the couch. “Tired?” he asked. 

He didn’t get a response and when he finished steeping the tea and brought it over, he found Neil curled up and fast asleep. He tried not to stare at Neil’s relaxed form or peaceful face, instead covering him with a blanket, turning off the lights, and retreating to his own room. 

* * *

When he woke, Andrew wondered again if it had all been a dream. In case it wasn’t, he took his time preparing to leave his room, making sure his hair was combed and not looking like it usually did when he rolled out of bed, changing into more flattering and less stained sweatpants, and pulling on a tighter shirt. He exited his room, fully prepared to find an empty apartment, but Neil was sitting on his couch, wrapped in a blanket. He was holding a cup of tea in one hand and a paperback from one of Andrew’s book towers in the other. _His_ hair was a disaster, which was somehow more endearing and attractive than when it was perfectly styled. 

Andrew’s heart twisted at seeing Neil look so at ease in his space. 

He looked up at Andrew and smiled sleepily. “Sorry about falling asleep on you. Your couch is actually pretty comfortable.” 

Before Andrew could respond, the front door burst open. “I’m telling you Andrew, I think she’s the one,” said Matt, sweeping in. He started shucking off his clothes as usual, speaking very quickly. “It was so perfect, you know? And not even the sex, although it’s the best I’ve had in a long time. But just her personality. Like, I could talk to her for hours. Maybe even instead of sex, which has never happened before.” Once he was naked he turned and froze completely when he caught sight of Neil, who was looking at him like a deer caught in headlights. 

Matt recovered first. “Neil!” he cried happily. He came forward to crowd next to him on the couch. Neil shrank back slightly. “I’ve always suspected, deep down, that you and I would be best friends as soon as we met. And now you’re here!” He didn’t seem the least bit surprised or curious about Neil’s presence. “I’ll make you eggs!” he decided and leapt off the couch to head to the kitchen. 

“Wear an apron,” Andrew called after him, eyeing his ass appreciatively as he walked away. 

Neil was watching him shrewdly. “Are you sure he’s not a euphemistic roommate?” he asked, taking a sip of his tea. 

Andrew snorted. “I can appreciate the scenery in the middle of the desert and still not want to live there.” 

“Fair enough.” He took another sip from his mug and turned his attention back to his book. Andrew hesitated, wondering if he should help Matt—probably, judging by the clang of pots falling over, punctuated by Shirley and Gandalf fleeing into the living room and leaping onto the bookcase. Before he could commit to it, Neil asked, “So what type of scenery would interest you? Hypothetically.” 

He turned a page casually, not looking up from the book, but he was not a good enough actor for Andrew not to hear the undercurrent to the words, or to hide the way his ear tips turned pink. Andrew swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat and rubbed his sweaty palms surreptitiously against his sweatpants. “Haven’t really thought about it,” he lied, trying to drape himself artfully across the arm of the couch and losing his balance. “I guess I’ve always kind of liked the aesthetic of the English countryside, though. You know, rain and hedges and moors, wind blowing through the poplars, all that stuff.” 

One of Neil’s perfect eyebrows went up, but before he could say anything there was another crash and an, “Everything’s fine!” from the kitchen. Smoke billowed into the living room, followed quickly by the blare of the smoke detector. “I lied, everything’s not fine!” Matt yelled, and Andrew pushed himself off the couch with a sigh to go find a pot lid and put out a grease fire yet again. 

* * *

“Are you sure this is okay?” Neil murmured, cradling the bottle of wine he’d brought as Andrew led the way to the staff entrance at Heaven’s Kitchen. 

“I can’t vouch for my friends not acting like total idiots, but yeah, I’m sure.” Thankfully Renee was providing the food, given that Matt had set the stove on fire twice that day already, Nicky thought everything needed “just a little spice” which meant he added chilis to mac-and-cheese, and Aaron was, potentially, the worst cook known to humankind. 

They shed their coats in the narrow hallway, then Neil trailed Andrew into the back dining room that was reserved for their little party. Katelyn was the first to spot them, wheeling over with her usual smile; Andrew gave her a light punch on the shoulder, then turned to reveal Neil. Her smile flickered as she recognized him, then broadened, and Andrew could see the amused calculations she was making. “Katelyn,” he said, and she did not heed the warning in his voice, “this is Neil. Neil, Katelyn, my sister-in-law.” 

“Lovely to meet you, Neil,” she said smoothly. Neil echoed her, shaking the hand she extended. “Come on, let’s introduce you to the others.” She spun her chair around and led the tiny procession into the kitchen. They were assaulted by a cacophony of sounds and delicious smells as they entered: Renee stirring something on the stove; Nicky leaning up against the counter, laughing, modeling an idiotic chef’s hat he had found somewhere; Matt sneakily trying to steal it, while Dan watched with a grin and Erik blocked every move with his giant shoulders; Aaron hovering over Renee’s shoulder, trying to learn something but mostly getting in the way. 

Nicky spotted them first. “Neil! Andrew!” He fended off another attempt on his hat and snagged a plate off the counter. “Have some—what is this?” 

“Figs wrapped in prosciutto with goat cheese,” Renee said, wiping her hands on her apron as she turned around. Her eyes widened as she processed what she was seeing, but her smile didn’t falter. “Welcome, Neil.” 

Aaron glanced over his shoulder, then did a double take before looking at Andrew with a question in his eyes. Andrew gave an infinitesimal shrug, trying not to notice that Neil had crowded closer to him, or be distracted by his warmth or the fact that he smelled like Andrew’s soap. “Everyone, Neil. Neil, everyone.” 

“Thanks, that’s very helpful,” Neil said, nudging Andrew’s arm. 

“Fine. NickyMattDanErikReneeAaronKatelyn,” he rattled off, making a sweeping gesture with his arm and pretending like Neil hadn’t already met half of the people. “Kevin and Thea are late, of course.” 

Aaron snorted. “Probably arguing over the fastest way to get here for so long they didn’t leave on time. As usual.” 

Neil shrugged. “Andrew took twenty minutes to decide on a tie, I don’t think he can talk.” 

“Traitor,” Andrew said, trying and failing to steal a buttery, maple-roasted Brussels sprout from under Renee’s nose. 

“Neil, come sit with me,” Katelyn called over. “I want to hear all the dirt you have on Andrew.” 

“I’m wounded,” Andrew informed her, clutching his chest. “I thought I was your favorite Minyard twin. Everyone knows you just settled for my brother because I’m not into women.” 

“Such a shame, too,” Katelyn sighed and shook her head. 

Andrew bent down to steal her wine glass under the pretense of hugging her and made off with it before she could snatch it back. Before he could take a sip of the wine, though, Neil sneaked in and liberated the glass from his grasp with an easy twist, handing it back to Katelyn with a wink. 

“Oh, he’s devious,” Katelyn laughed. “I like him.” 

Neil procured a glass of orange juice from somewhere and clinked it against Katelyn’s, meeting Andrew’s eyes across the rim of the glass as he took a sip from it. Andrew held his gaze for a moment, until the buzzing in his veins turned into a rushing, dizzying tide and he had to look away. 

“Hey, Matt, where’s the love of your life?” Erik called out, carrying in a tray piled high with appetizers. “I thought you were going to bring her tonight.” 

“Yeah, Matt, you’ve been talking about her nonstop for a week,” Nicky piped up. “You can’t just tease us like that and then not deliver. We want the goods!” 

Matt coughed and quickly stuffed an entire fig into his mouth. It was probably the first time ever that Andrew had seen him uncomfortable. Scratch that—it was probably the first time ever that Matt had _been_ uncomfortable in his entire life. 

“Oh?” Dan said, smirking. “Now I want to hear about this mystery lady.” 

“He’s completely besotted with her,” Aaron sighed as he set down a platter of stuffed dates and canapés. “It’s pathetic.” 

“Interesting,” Dan hummed, her eyes sparkling like the champagne in her glass. 

There was a clatter in the kitchen, followed by Kevin’s loud, grating voice and Thea’s booming laughter. Nicky topped up everyone’s glasses and Erik brought the last plate of sweet potato fritters and tiny roast pumpkins. The table was already groaning under the weight of all the food, and they weren’t even on the second course yet. 

“We should have taken my shortcut,” Kevin grumbled as Renee led the stragglers inside. “It would have saved us at least six minutes.” 

“Six minutes earlier would still have made you late,” Aaron greeted him tetchily. “Sit down, or the food’s going to go cold.” 

Andrew, who had been trying to hook up the speaker system to his Spotify, was too late in snagging the seat beside Neil, now wedged in between Katelyn and Kevin. Andrew chose the seat next to Renee instead, though not without “accidentally” kicking Kevin’s foot under the table. 

Platters of food were passed around along with the usual banter. Andrew loaded up his plate despite the fact that he always ended up regretting eating too many appetizers when the real star of the evening would come later. He’d told Renee time and time again that the traditional course order was outdated and she needed to get with the times and serve dessert first, but she never listened. 

“So, Neil,” Kevin was saying across the table. “What do you do?” 

Neil speared a date on his fork and cleared his throat, flicking an amused glance at Andrew. 

“I’m an actor.” 

“Oh, are you?” Kevin said excitedly. “It’s always so refreshing to meet someone from the profession. Just last week I ran into a fellow who was _also_ an extra in _Cats_ , the sheer coincidence—anyway, we exchanged quite a few tips on the Stanislavsky technique, so if you’d like any pointers I’d be happy to share the wisdom, from one thespian to another!” 

“Thanks,” Neil said, not even trying to conceal his amusement. “I’ll consider it.” 

“Actually, it’s so good I ran into you. Some other industry friends are staging a production of _Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat_ in the new year and I can put in a good word for you.” Kevin was practically vibrating with enthusiasm; on his other side Nicky was rolling his eyes so hard Andrew half expected them to fall out of his face. Thea was across the table watching Kevin with a mixture of exasperation and fondness, making no effort to stop him from making a fool of himself. “I can’t promise a big part, of course, but we’re always looking for extras and stage hands.” 

“That’s kind of you,” said Neil, “but I’m not in town long term.” 

“Oh,” said Kevin, slumping with disappointment. “Well, maybe next time. What type of acting do you normally do?” 

“Movies, mostly.” 

“Ah, like independent films and bit parts?” said Kevin sagely, nodding. 

“Not quite,” answered Neil, and Andrew had no idea how he hadn’t yet given in to laughter. 

“Is there good money in that, if you don’t mind my asking?” said Kevin. “How much did you make for the last movie you were in?” 

“That’s rude, Kevin,” chided Renee. 

“It’s okay,” said Neil. “My salary’s always published in those lists of highest paid actors. Last movie, I made twenty million dollars.” 

“Oh,” said Kevin, taken aback. “Um.” He flailed in surprise and managed to knock over his nearly full wine glass. “Oh, shit, sorry,” he swore as the spilled liquid mostly spattered onto Neil’s shirt. 

Neil pushed his chair back away from the table, mopping himself off with his napkin. “It’s fine,” he said, waving everyone else off. “No harm done.” He looked up and gave Andrew a wry smile. “Bathroom?” 

Andrew pointed the way and wished the floor would swallow him up. That had gone downhill fast. Trust Kevin to ruin everything. 

“So,” said Dan into the silence Neil left in his wake, “were you ever going to tell us you’re dating Neil Josten?” 

“No,” answered Andrew mulishly. “Because we’re not dating.” 

“Wait,” said Kevin, pausing in his attempts to clean the spill. “You know Neil Josten?” Everyone stared at him. “Is—” he pointed at the bathroom door, “is Andrew’s date Neil _Neil Josten_?” He sat down heavily. “Oh my God,” he moaned, looking helplessly up at Thea. “Oh my God, I offered him a role as an extra in an amateur production.” 

“I know,” she said, holding up her phone which had been leaning against her wine glass. “I filmed it.” 

Kevin dropped his head into his hands and started muttering to himself. 

“How long have you been secretly seeing Neil Josten?” demanded Dan, ignoring Kevin’s theatrics completely. “How did none of us know?” 

“Oh, I knew!” said Nicky happily, waving his hand in the air. “I knew and I told no one! I deserve a prize or something.” 

“You told me,” laughed Renee. Andrew shot her a betrayed glance because she hadn’t said anything. 

“And me,” added Erik. 

“That doesn’t count, I tell you everything,” Nicky said, waving his husband off. “And I knew Renee wouldn’t gossip.” 

“To be fair, I didn’t believe you,” offered Renee as Nicky squawked in outrage. 

“Do you mean that the guy you’ve been mooning over since the summer is Neil Josten?” asked Aaron sharply. “Have you lost your mind?” 

“Aaron,” said Katelyn quietly. 

“No, really,” said Aaron. “The guy’s a fucking movie star, Andrew. He’s obviously using you.” 

“Stop being an asshole,” entreated Katelyn. 

“We all heard him say he wasn’t going to be around long,” continued Aaron, bullheaded. “He’s going to leave and break your heart. Guys like that don’t stick around.” 

“That’s enough,” snapped Katelyn. Aaron fell into silence, scowling. “He’s just worried about you,” she told Andrew, “but if you’re happy, we support you.” 

“I’m happy,” said Andrew through gritted teeth. 

“Well, I think Neil’s great,” said Matt heartily, breaking the ensuing heavy silence. 

“Uh,” said Neil, coming back into the room and stopping short at Matt’s words, “I can go back to the bathroom for a couple minutes if you want to keep talking about me?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Katelyn. “Come sit and eat. I have so many embarrassing stories about Andrew to share with you.” 

* * *

“Last brownie,” said Dan, holding up a plate when all the food had been demolished. “It goes to the saddest sob story.” 

Aaron groaned. “Kevin always wins, just by being Kevin.” 

“He _did_ spill wine all over one of his idols earlier after failing to recognize him,” supplied Erik. 

“But he has an awesome girlfriend,” argued Renee. “I don’t have an awesome girlfriend. I’m the only single one here.” 

“We have Kevin and Renee both vying for the brownie,” said Dan. “Any other takers?” 

“I should win seeing as every single embarrassing thing I’ve done for the last two decades was brought up in the past hour and discussed in vivid detail,” grumbled Andrew. 

“True,” allowed Katelyn. “You’ve suffered. Would a brownie make it better?” 

Dan started to pass over the plate, but Neil spoke up, “What about me? Don’t I get a chance to win?” 

“You don’t like brownies,” said Matt. “You weren’t clear about blowjobs, but you were specifically anti-brownie.” 

“See?” said Neil, gesturing at Matt. “Everyone always assumes they know me because of random things I don’t even remember saying.” 

“Fine,” replied Thea. “Tell us why you think you deserve the last brownie.” 

“Okay,” said Neil, rubbing his hands together. “Put yourself in my shoes.” His showmanship was in evidence as everyone sat forward in anticipation, their attention completely captured. “Imagine, if you will, a lonely house on the moors, haunted by the ghost of a childhood sweetheart—” 

“That’s _Wuthering Heights_ ,” interrupted Andrew. 

“Maybe,” allowed Neil. “No interruptions. Anyway, imagine not having any friends until you were twenty-five, due to being home schooled by a paranoid mother. Imagine being so isolated that you only ever spoke to the furniture, even though the divan was an asshole.” 

Matt snorted a laugh. 

“Imagine being followed everywhere you go,” continued Neil, “because people want to catch you in a manufactured scandal in order to yank you out a closet you’ve never been in. Imagine being worried about showing any kind of affection or friendliness to anyone in public for fear of it being used against you.” 

The smiles had dropped off everyone’s faces as Neil spoke. 

“Not that you even have many friends because everyone you meet is only interested in what they can get from you and your inability to settle down means you move constantly and live out of a suitcase. Nobody can stand to deal with your lifestyle for any length of time, save one person whose life is even crazier than yours.” 

He glanced around the table, sad and exhausted. 

“Finally,” said Neil, “imagine you’ve been on a diet and at a gym literally every day for the past ten years because people are obsessed with filming you with your shirt off.” He gave Andrew an even look. “Don’t you agree that’s sadder than a little light teasing from your cozy, close-knit family?” 

He turned large, earnest eyes on Dan. 

“Alright, alright,” she griped. “You win. Stop with the puppy eyes.” 

Neil pumped his fist, instantly animated again. He smiled smugly, no lingering trace of sadness in his expression. 

Aaron scoffed. “Dramatic bastard. Probably made that up for sympathy.” 

Andrew knew he hadn’t. Just as he knew that Neil’s show of emotion had been genuine and the way he’d shrugged it off like it didn’t bother him was the lie. 

* * *

“For you,” said Neil, handing over his hard-earned brownie as they walked back to the book shop in the crisp night air. 

It was just the two of them; Matt had offered to drive Dan home, which reminded Andrew that they’d never pried the information about his girlfriend out of him. 

“If you don’t want it, why bother competing for it?” 

“I like winning.” 

“Of course you do,” sighed Andrew. 

“I also like your friends,” continued Neil. “They’re nice.” 

“They’re feral,” corrected Andrew. “But they’re okay, I guess.” 

“You don’t fool me,” said Neil, tipping his head back to look at the gathering clouds blotting out the stars and reflecting the orange glow of the city back at them. “You love them. How’d you all meet, anyway?” 

“It was me, Aaron, and Nicky at first,” said Andrew, watching the line of Neil’s throat. “Kevin attached himself to us in college. Then Aaron started dating Katelyn and Nicky met Erik. Dan was friends with Katelyn and she introduced us to Renee when they dated briefly. And Matt answered my ad for a roommate and followed me around until we accepted him. I suppose once we meet his girlfriend she’ll become one of us, too.” 

“Does that bother you?” 

Andrew shrugged. He’d never been a fan of change, actively working against every addition to their group. “I’ve gotten used to it. Eventually everyone will be settled. Now only Renee needs a girlfriend.” 

“And you need a boyfriend,” said Neil, lowering his gaze to meet Andrew’s eyes. 

Andrew looked back at him steadily. “I think I’m doing alright.” 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your continued support and for sticking with the story.... things are heating up!

“I don’t actually own ice skates.” Neil was leaning across the counter in what appeared to be his new favorite pose, absently petting Margaret while Marianne and Elinor milled about his feet.

“Nobody does. As far as I can tell, it’s impossible to buy them. It’s all just a scam, to force you to rent the smelly ones from the rink,” Andrew said absently, sorting through new arrivals.

Buying lots on eBay was always an interesting proposition; he’d found a first edition of _The Tale of Peter Rabbit_ in one of them. It would’ve paid off most of his school loans, except it was currently sitting in his apartment, carefully stored to protect it from the elements. He told himself he was letting it accrue more value. If he took it out occasionally to flip through it and admire the illustrations—wearing gloves, of course—nobody needed to know.

This box didn’t contain anything special. Mostly two-dollar paperbacks, with a few of the more popular hardcovers thrown in. Neil watched, that careless little smile that was becoming more and more frequent playing across his mouth. He reached into the box to grab some more, only to yelp and withdraw, looking at a bleeding scratch on his finger before sticking it in his mouth.

“Gross,” Andrew commented, flipping back the box flap to reveal Bux, guarding the last few books with flattened ears.

Neil just shrugged. “Not my fault your cat’s a dragon.”

“There’s soap and water upstairs. It’s your fault you’re not using it.”

“It’ll be fine, I haven’t died yet.”

Andrew snorted. “I think that’s more luck than anything else. And luck eventually runs out.” He debated trying to remove the books, then decided if the damn cat wanted them he could have them. It was just James Patterson bullshit anyway. He grimaced at Bux in disappointment; usually his cats had better taste than that.

“Ooh, is that a subtle death threat? Just for me?” Neil fanned himself. “Be still my heart.”

“You are a severely disturbed individual.” He tried to put as much scorn as possible into his voice, but judging by the way Neil’s grin broadened, he fell short. No doubt the flush he could feel creeping up his neck didn’t help with his facade.

The door jangled and Neil stiffened, then relaxed when Nicky breezed in, cup holder in hand. “Morning, lovelies! I come bearing coffee!” He passed them off with only the faintest grimace at Neil’s black dark roast. “We ready for the Christmas rush?”

Neil hummed over the rim of his cup. “I should probably go.” It was their unspoken agreement; once customers started actually coming in, Neil escaped, only to reappear at random throughout the day. Andrew had no idea what he actually did.

“What’s your favorite Christmas movie?” Nicky called from around the corner.

“Uh.” Neil glanced at Andrew with something akin to panic in his eyes. “I don’t have one.”

“They’re all so good, amiright?” Nicky re-appeared, having shed his coat. “You more of a comedy guy or a feelings guy? Like, _Elf_ or _Miracle on 34th Street_?”

“I don’t know. I don’t really watch movies.”

“You don’t watch movies.” Andrew bit back his grin as he leaned back against the counter, raising his eyebrows at Neil’s reddening face. Nicky stared at Neil in undisguised shock for a few endless seconds before he recovered the power of speech.

“What? Neil! Neil, baby, you don’t know what you’re missing. How can you be an actor and not know the classics?” He fluttered his hands in Neil’s general direction, as if he wanted to hug him before thinking better of it. “Okay. Okay, okay, okay, we’re fixing this. Tonight. Our place. I’ll see who—” Nicky trailed off into muttering and disappeared into the back, phone in hand.

Neil rubbed a sheepish hand over his face. “How much trouble am I in?”

Andrew didn’t answer, just let his smile grow.

* * *

“Is this okay?” Neil whispered, wedging himself between Andrew and the arm of the couch. Aaron was on Andrew’s other side, with Katelyn in her chair at the far end. Nicky and Erik were a tangle of limbs on the other couch, and Renee had settled with an ironic elegance onto a cushion on the floor.

Andrew didn’t trust himself to answer beyond a nod. Not when Neil was pressed up against him in the darkness, the heat of his body radiating through his clothes, the bluish light of the TV flickering across the planes of his face. Andrew buried his hand in the popcorn, shoving some kernels in his mouth before offering the bowl to Neil. He selected a few pieces with a peculiar sort of delicacy, and Andrew shook his head at him before handing the bowl to Aaron.

They ate their way through two bowls of popcorn—butter and caramel—and a selection of treats from Renee as _A Christmas Story_ bled into _Elf_. Aaron got up and wandered into the kitchen half an hour into _A Muppet Christmas Carol_ , clattering around with what sounded like a marching band but was probably just the tea kettle.

“It’s coming up,” Andrew called, just as the old-fashioned kettle started whistling.

“I know, I hear it,” Aaron answered, appearing in the doorway. Neil looked at Andrew quizzically and he just pointed at the screen, where Gonzo and Rizzo were standing on a snowy street.

“Light the lamp, not the rat, light the lamp NOT THE RAT!” Everyone but Neil said the line in unison, laughter rippling through the room as Rizzo tumbled into the icy bucket. Andrew glanced at his brother, who was looking not at the TV but at Katelyn. The expression in his eyes made Andrew swallow hard, and he dragged his attention away only to find Neil watching him with a similar softness.

Andrew cleared his throat and looked away. “You’re missing the movie,” he pointed out gruffly.

* * *

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but the point of going skating is to, you know, _skate_ , not to hang out beside the ice glaring at it,” said Neil, coming to a graceful stop beside the boards where Andrew hadn’t yet drummed up the courage to step onto the ice. He was wearing an orange beanie instead of his usual “disguise” of a baseball cap, and it clashed horribly with everything else he was wearing.

“Skating is stupid,” said Andrew. “Who even came up with it anyway? Whose dumb idea was it to strap knives to their shoes to glide around in the cold?”

Neil only grinned at him and held out a hand. “Come on,” he said. He, of course, was actually talented at skating. Andrew had no idea how or why, except that Neil seemed to be annoyingly skilled at everything.

Andrew glanced around the ice rink—Dan had made sure that the venue was accessible so Katelyn was able to join them. She’d swapped her regular chair for one that could be used on the ice and laughed wildly as Erik and Kevin took turns pushing her around the ice surface. Aaron had taken over from them and was using her chair for balance as he slowly circled the rink. Kevin and Thea were, of course, involved in some sort of skating competition with each other while Nicky was clinging to Erik’s arm and letting him drag him along. Both Dan and Renee were passable skaters and they were supporting Matt between the two of them. As usual, Matt had thrown himself into something new with more enthusiasm than skill.

Andrew took a deep breath and stepped onto the ice, jerking instantly as his foot started slipping. He gripped the boards for dear life and pulled himself away from the opening. He took a few wobbly strides and then decided that maybe standing still was the best thing to do, especially considering the number of irritating youths zipping around like they weren’t worried about falling and dashing their brains all over the ice.

“There you go,” encouraged Neil. “How about letting go of the boards?”

“I like the boards. They’re my friends.”

Neil laughed and skated around him, turning easily so they were facing each other. He offered Andrew both his hands. “Hold on to me, I won’t let you fall,” he said, his face stupidly earnest. “Trust me.”

Andrew swore but carefully peeled one of his hands out of its death grip to grab onto Neil. The other hand followed, and then he was being slowly towed away from the boards.

“What are you doing?” he asked, feeling slightly panicked. “Stop skating backwards!”

“It’s fine,” coaxed Neil.

“Look where you’re going.”

“It’s fine,” said Neil again, his tone warring between soothing and mocking. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Just then, someone bumped past Andrew, tipping him forward and throwing him off balance. He stumbled into Neil and the two of them fell to the ice in a tangle of limbs.

“Oof,” said Neil as the breath got knocked out of him.

Andrew glared down at him. “‘I won’t let you fall,’” he mimicked, high pitched. “‘What’s the worst that could happen?’”

Neil let his head fall back on the ice and laughed helplessly. “Yeah, okay. My bad.” He smirked up at Andrew. “Although, this is the second time recently you’ve tackled me to the ground. If you want to lie on top of me so badly, you could just ask.”

Andrew could feel his face heat as he pushed himself up and started trying to figure out how to get onto his feet again. He caught sight of Aaron watching him with a frown and a furrow between his eyebrows.

Neil got up easily and helped Andrew back onto his blades. “Falling wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked, before breaking into more helpless laughter at the look Andrew shot him.

They completed a slow, wobbly tour of the rink and Andrew latched onto the boards like a dying man, pulling himself off the ice and stalking over to a bench with as much composure and dignity as he could muster. Neil watched him, grinning, and skated off terrifyingly fast again just to show off. Andrew checked on the others—still fine, still having fun—but it was hard not to track the orange-topped blur that was Neil as he zoomed around the ice.

Once everyone had enough of risking their necks, they retreated to the crowded café that overlooked the ice. Erik charmed a couple of middle-aged mothers into giving up their table and they ordered a round of mulled wine and hot chocolates, packing themselves into the narrow space and breathing in the combined smell of damp jackets and boozy, wine-drenched winter spices that lingered in the warm room.

Neil was pressed up against Andrew’s side, radiating heat. He had a cup of kiddie punch in one hand and was gesturing wildly with the other, talking and laughing with Matt and Dan. Seeing him blending in seamlessly with Andrew’s little patchwork family went to Andrew’s head even more than the wine did, and Andrew quickly swapped his mug with Renee’s hot chocolate. Renee smiled angelically at him while passing the wine down to Aaron in exchange for his herbal tea, and they both had to work hard to maintain their poker faces when Aaron took an oblivious sip and spluttered at the change.

Neil managed to rouse enough people for a second round on the ice while Andrew, Katelyn, Aaron and Renee stayed behind and watched them through the window. When Renee accompanied Katelyn to the bathroom, Aaron used the opportunity to snag the seat next to Andrew’s and dump the full force of his disapproving frown on him.

Andrew countered with a challenging scowl and the two of them glared at each other for a moment before Aaron finally caved.

“Don’t,” he said curtly.

“Don’t what,” Andrew asked.

“Do this,” Aaron gritted out, gesturing at the window and the glittering ice below where Neil was about to beat both Kevin and Thea at a race. “Fall for this guy. He’s…”

His eyes searched for something and settled on the Christmas decorations lining the window sill. He picked up a snow globe, shook it vigorously and held it up.

“He’s only here for the season,” he said. “A shiny bauble, nothing more. You’re interesting to him right now, but once Christmas is over he’ll run back to his movie star life and you’ll still be here. With us.”

Andrew shrugged and looked out over the ice again.

“I know.”

“Do you?” Aaron said skeptically.

“Shut up,” Andrew growled. “We can’t all have our happy ending.”

He glanced over to where Renee was wheeling Katelyn over. Katelyn saw them looking and waved, her wedding ring catching the light. Below them, Neil was skating loops around Kevin and gloating about his win while Matt applauded from the boards, and all of a sudden the whipped cream from Andrew’s hot chocolate felt strangely sour where it sat in his stomach.

* * *

Andrew shifted his bundle of gifts into one hand to press the buzzer, juggling the pile and almost dropping it in his attempt to open the door. Neil snorted at his side, stopping the impending disaster with one hand and letting them in with the other. His hand lingered on Andrew’s arm for a second, the warmth bleeding through the jacket; and then it was gone, Neil’s neck suspiciously pink as they made their way to Nicky’s apartment.

Before Andrew could overanalyze it, Nicky’s door was flung open, accompanied by the blast of a party horn. “Merry Christmas!” Nicky yelled, the chorus taken up by other voices within. Andrew led the way inside, dodging Nicky’s hug with the ease of long practice and making his way to add to the mound of presents that surrounded the Christmas tree. The apartment smelled incredible, the pine of the tree blending with the warm, heady smells of roasting beef and apples and gingerbread. Renee handed each of them a mug of hot cider as soon as their hands were empty.

“Where’s Aaron?” Neil asked, once he had glanced around and found a mistletoe-free space to park.

“In the kitchen with Erik,” Katelyn answered with an apologetic grimace.

“No!” Kevin practically shouted, turning in the direction of the kitchen as if he could see through the wall.

“It’s okay,” Nicky said. “Most of it’s already done. Plus Erik’s in there.”

Kevin ignored him, tripping over the ottoman in his rush. Thea caught him before he could crash into the wall and steered him in the right direction. As he pushed through the door, they could hear Erik saying, “I already added salt to that, Aaron. And I really don’t think the gravy needs cayenne—”

Neil gave a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Andrew elbowed him in the ribs. “I warned you.”

“So, should I skip the gravy then?”

“Definitely,” Katelyn said, wheeling over. “And maybe the potatoes too.” Her words were punctuated by a muffled wail coming from down the hall. “Are you enjoying your visit so far?”

“Absolutely,” Neil said, throwing a glance that should be illegal in Andrew’s direction. “It’s going to be weird going back to L.A. next month.”

“I would imagine it’s a bit more hectic there.”

Neil made a noncommittal noise. “Sometimes. Mostly it’s just kind of...boring, if I’m being honest.” Katelyn’s eyebrows went up and Neil laughed. “No, seriously. Like I’m always running around but I’m bored out of my skull at the same time. And it’s going to be weird going back to sleeping alone.”

Nicky sounded like he was choking on his tongue, and Andrew threw him a glare.

“Charlie likes to steal my pillow,” Neil explained, “and Shirley shoves herself between my knees and the back of the couch. I should really get a cat, but I’m not home enough.”

“I’m sure Andrew—”

By some miracle, Nicky’s comment was interrupted by the buzzer. “It is I, King of the Gingerbread!” came Matt’s voice through the little speaker. He was never going to let it go that he’d actually won the gingerbread house contest this year. Andrew was still convinced he’d found some way to cheat, but he hadn’t yet managed to prove it. A minute later he burst through the door, Dan at his heels. Neil did a double take, his eyes widening for a second before he schooled his expression. Andrew looked back at the pair of them and realized—Dan’s shirt was inside out.

Huh.

Katelyn seemed to notice at about the same time, judging by the mischief that flickered in her eyes. But she didn’t say anything, just joined in the general conversation until Erik came and announced that dinner was ready.

“Mistletoe!” Matt yelled, and he laid a huge kiss on Erik before he could escape. This caused some sort of kiss-off, in which everyone was clambering to kiss everyone else. Neil met Andrew’s eyes in a secret challenge, and they dodged their way through the mass of people, ducking under outstretched arms and around hugging bodies until they broke through the other side and escaped to freedom, breathless with suppressed laughter. Neil bumped him with his shoulder as they stole into the warmth of the kitchen, pushing back harder when Andrew pressed into him.

The clearing of a throat had them both freezing. Aaron was watching them in disapproval, gravy ladle in his hand. Neil stiffened up next to him, and Andrew could feel more than see the mask of Famous Actor Neil Josten drop into place.

“Better go look after your wife,” Andrew said. “It’s a mistletoe frenzy out there.”

“Katelyn can take care of herself,” Aaron said, but he pushed past them anyway, gravy dripping as he went.

The dining table was crowded with dishes and people, the clatter of utensils and chairs and voices. Neil was quick to claim the seat next to Andrew, his knee bumping up against Andrew’s as he tugged his chair in. He didn’t pull away, and Andrew’s focus narrowed down to the few square inches of contact between them. Food was passed, and Andrew nearly poured gravy over everything before he remembered that Aaron had touched it. Conversation washed over him, a flock of words swirling about his head, none of them quite settling on the branches of his mind that were already occupied by _Neil, Neil, Neil._

Until Katelyn’s voice broke a temporary lull. “So, Dan,” she said, spearing a roasted mushroom with her fork. “When were you going to tell us that your new guy, who is, and I quote, ‘hung like a stallion, and not some ordinary stallion, but like, a really big stallion,’ is our very own Matthew Boyd?”

There was a brief pause while Dan gaped at Katelyn and Matt gaped at Dan, and then Nicky exclaimed, “Wait, what?” He turned to Erik. “Did you know about this?” Erik shook his head, and Nicky looked around the table. “Did anyone know about this?”

Neil huffed a laugh. “I’m amazed any of you didn’t know? I mean, the size of Matt’s dick was like, the third thing I knew about him.”

The table erupted. Thea was almost crying with laughter, Kevin was staring at Neil with wide eyes, Aaron looked torn between amusement and irritation, Dan’s face was on fire, and Renee was hiding her mouth in her napkin.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Nicky said, waving his hands. “What were the first two things you learned about Matt? Because his dick was probably the first thing I noticed.”

Neil held up a finger. “Well, I knew he was Andrew’s roommate? And not in the euphemistic sense.” A second finger went up. “And that he owned Rufus. Oh, and that he sent me thirst tweets, so I guess it was the fourth thing.”

“Matt, baby,” Nicky said, tossing his napkin across the table at him. “You went off-brand! Just think, maybe if Neil had seen your dick sooner—”

Neil’s protest was drowned out by Matt’s, who wrapped an arm around Dan’s shoulders and pressed a kiss to her temple. “As much as I will always love and adore Neil,” he said magnanimously, “Dan is number one in my heart.” A collective, “awwww,” went up around the table, and the conversation shifted to how the two of them had finally hooked up. As attention turned away, Neil shot Andrew a smile that spread through his bloodstream like liquor.

The afternoon passed in a haze of food and laughter and torn wrapping paper. Andrew ended up on the floor, leaning against Neil’s legs and watching his family glowing under the tree lights. Eventually the last of the presents had been opened, and Andrew escaped to the bathroom at the end of the hall.

He washed his hands and splashed some cool water on his face. It was just a lot. It always was, the heat and the noise, the weight of all those bodies. He leaned against the sink, staring at himself for a moment in the mirror, studying the flush on his cheeks and the unfamiliar spark in his eyes. _Breathe in, breathe out; breathe in, breathe out._

A roar of laughter greeted him when he opened the door. Matt was telling some sort of story, or trying to; he kept getting interrupted by Nicky, and Andrew smiled to himself a little as everyone shushed Nicky in unison. The door to the balcony was ajar, allowing fresh air into the overheated apartment, and he slipped through it, tilting his head into the breeze that greeted him. He rested against the railing, soaking in the peaceful darkness. Not that true darkness was possible here; it was broken by twinkle lights that Nicky had tacked up along the doorway, mirroring the city below and the stars above. It was comforting, being wrapped in gentle light like a blanket, and he felt the tension leach out of his shoulders.

There was movement on the other side of the door; Neil, emerging from the kitchen with a glass in his hand. He looked up and smiled at Andrew, and he didn’t look even one bit like a serial killer. No; he looked soft, and rumpled, and human, and so impossibly beautiful that Andrew’s breath caught.

And then he was there, in front of Andrew, close enough to reach out and touch. “Hi.”

“I only went to the bathroom, it’s not like I’m coming back from war.”

Neil huffed a quiet laugh. “Hey, I don’t know what your bathroom habits are.” Andrew waited for him to turn away, to go back to the others. Another eruption of laughter sounded from the living room, but neither of them moved. “I did get you something, but it hasn’t come in yet.”

“Something other than the World’s Best Cat Dad mug?”

“I mean, I know that’s hard to top, but…” He started to reach up, but stopped, his hand hovering a few inches away from Andrew’s face. “Can I kiss you?”

Andrew’s mouth beat his brain to the punch. “Is this because you’re feeling guilty about the mug?”

“Not even a little bit. That mug is a treasure.”

“Then yes.”

Andrew had imagined this a thousand times over the past six months, in a hundred different scenarios. He had pictured what Neil’s mouth would taste like, what his hair would feel like under Andrew’s fingers, the way his breathing would hitch. A thousand times he had thought of what a perfect first kiss could be, and yet—and yet reality was so much better.

It was better when they bumped noses; it was better when Andrew’s glasses ended up smashing into his cheek for a second, and when their teeth clacked together, and when Neil’s lips were rough against Andrew’s because he never remembered to use chapstick. It was better because it turned out Neil was unpracticed; he was cautious, and eager, and so fucking honest Andrew thought his heart would crack open. It was better that he tasted like apples, and that when Andrew licked his way into Neil’s mouth he gave the tiniest breathy moan, and that his hand tightened convulsively on Andrew’s face, almost uncomfortably tight. And it was better because when they pulled away, after a too-short eternity, Neil was trembling when he rested his forehead against Andrew’s.

“Merry Christmas, Andrew,” Neil whispered.

“Merry Christmas.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your enthusiastic responses to the last chapter! We are looking forward to your reactions to this one too, your comments are amazing! Also don't forget the podficast version, link is below.

Andrew and Neil spent Boxing Day in bed.

Not the way Andrew had sometimes imagined late at night with only his right hand for company, which he wasn’t even sure was in the books at all considering the things Neil had told him about his sexuality. They hadn’t talked about it yet—Neil had almost instantly fallen asleep the moment his head had hit Andrew’s pillow after getting home late the night before. He’d proceeded to take over most of the bed with floppy limbs and breathy murmurs, and what little space he left was soon filled by sundry cats, crowding Andrew out to the very edge of the mattress with a hard-won scrap of the blanket. Still—Andrew didn’t regret inviting Neil to spend the night in his bed instead of on the sofa, especially since Matt had accompanied Dan home and had yet to return.

Andrew woke late to find Neil sheepishly fidgeting with a breakfast tray. He was dressed in boxer shorts and one of Andrew’s knitted sweaters, socked feet scratching nervously at his ankles as he held up the tray.

“I made omelettes,” he said. “And I may have gotten a little carried away juicing oranges.”

He nodded at the large jug of orange juice that was sliding around precariously on the tray. Andrew quickly sat up and made space for him before it could spill, and Neil set the tray down and climbed back into bed.

“Cats?” Andrew croaked, not quite awake enough to form full sentences yet. He’d noticed a suspicious lack of hungry annoying critters in the room, several dents in the blanket landscape indicating a recent exodus of its former occupants.

“I fed them,” Neil replied, buttering a slice of bread and plopping it on Andrew’s plate. “Rufus, too. Last I checked they were wrestling over the single patch of sunlight on the kitchen floor.”

Andrew picked up the World’s Best Cat Dad mug and took a sip of the coffee Neil had made. He couldn’t stifle a giant yawn and heard Neil smother a laugh beside him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Neil said innocently.

“What,” Andrew repeated, glaring.

“Your hair,” Neil blurted out, shaking with silent amusement. “And you look…”

He bit his lip, grinning, and Andrew leaned forward to chase after a kiss. Neil laughed into it but didn’t move away, and one kiss quickly turned into another, and another, and another.

“Are you trying to distract me from the fact that you’re an utter disaster in bed?” Neil hummed, peppering Andrew’s jaw with tiny, smoochy kisses. Andrew pulled away to quirk his eyebrow at him and Neil flushed. “Er, I meant—like, in the morning. Aesthetically. Fuck.”

“Rude,” Andrew murmured, pulling him back into a kiss. Neil, contrary as ever, opted to continue his earlier trajectory instead, and when Andrew turned his head a little Neil’s mouth slipped dangerously close to his neck, teasing a shiver from him by accident.

“Sorry,” Neil said earnestly. “Are you ticklish?”

“No,” Andrew said, reflexively tensing up against the inevitable test that came whenever he answered this question, but Neil just looked puzzled and kept his hands where they were absently kneading a corner of the pillow.

“Are you cold?”

“Neil,” Andrew said.

“Yes?”

“Just shut up and kiss me.”

* * *

When Andrew was young he’d always assumed when he grew up he’d get married and have kids, because that was what people did. As he aged, he quickly realized that he was never going to marry a woman but that hadn’t stopped him from thinking that he’d one day find a partner to share his days with. During college and his early twenties he’d tried dating but had come to the conclusion that it wasn’t for him. No one was able to hold his interest for long; he kept expecting that one day he’d meet someone who he’d look at the same way Aaron looked at Katelyn, but he hadn’t. By the time he was thirty he’d known that he was content with the status quo: relying on infrequent hook-ups to satisfy his needs. He had his friends; he didn’t need anything more.

Because no relationship had ever been like this before. No one had ever respected his boundaries while simultaneously getting so far under his skin.

Andrew didn’t open his store between Christmas and New Year’s, instead taking the time to rest and recharge. He couldn’t compete with the post-Christmas sales in the big chain stores anyway. On the 27th his family came over for their yearly quiet bookshop day, complete with cocoa and cookies. For the first time ever, Andrew wished they’d stay home.

His phone was buzzing insistently. “Check that for me?” he asked Neil, pulling a chunky but criminally soft sweater over his head. “They’re probably downstairs, wondering where we are.”

He and Neil had stayed in bed for as long as possible and now were rushing to get ready before one or, more likely, all of Andrew’s makeshift family crowded into his apartment to see what the holdup was.

Neil picked up the phone and snorted an unattractive laugh when he read the message. “Nicky wants to know if we’re decent.”

“You’re never decent,” said Andrew distractedly as he searched for a pair of pants that weren’t too covered in cat hair.

“Hey, Andrew?” asked Neil, his voice casual.

“Hm?” Andrew spied a pair of semi-clean jeans under the bed and crouched down to grab them.

“Why am I listed as ‘Famous Snacktor Neil Josten’ in your phone?”

Andrew froze and then groaned, burying his face into his comforter. He’d forgotten about that; he’d entered that contact information back when he was sure he’d never see Neil face-to-face again.

“I mean, you’re not wrong,” continued Neil, sounding innocent. “I _am_ a legit snack.”

“Go away,” muttered Andrew, willing his face to cool down. “Let me die in peace.” He could only imagine how red he was.

Neil laughed, bright and happy. “Don’t; I’d miss you,” he said, heading out of the apartment with a line of cats trailing in his wake.

Andrew took a few minutes to compose himself before he followed. He hoped he didn’t look as flustered as he felt.

Everyone was all settled when he arrived downstairs, each of them giving him different degrees of smug or knowing looks (or a disapproving frown in Aaron’s case). Renee had already distributed the goodies she’d brought over and Nicky was in the middle of brewing several pots of different types of tea to appeal to everyone’s tastes.

Andrew headed to the counter where he’d stacked the books he’d carefully chosen for everyone, either something he knew they’d love or something they’d hate depending on how much they’d irritated him recently.

“Got a book for me, too?” asked Neil, leaning into Andrew once the books were distributed to the proper recipients.

Warmth radiated from their point of contact as Andrew fished the children's book he’d hidden under the counter for this express purpose.

“ _Laika the Space Dog_ ,” Neil read dubiously.

“Non-fiction,” Andrew replied, tapping the cover twice with his index finger. “Told you there are dogs in space.”

Neil rolled his eyes but he couldn’t hide his obvious amusement. He leaned in to press a kiss to one of the many hickeys he’d left the day previously.

The others broke into raucous teasing about Neil being a vampire. Andrew watched as Neil turned bright red before joining in to the general shit-talking and giving as good as he got.

No, it had never been like this before, so simple and easy. It was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

* * *

An incessantly buzzing phone woke Andrew far before he was interested in being conscious. He scrunched his eyes shut more tightly and burrowed into the warmth that surrounded him. After three nights of sharing a bed they were getting better at it; Neil’s sprawl was mostly on top of Andrew now instead of pushing him away, letting Andrew into the blanket/cat cocoon as opposed to outside of it. He’d thought he’d have trouble sleeping with Neil octopussed around him but passed out almost instantly and slept deeply.

The phone stopped buzzing only to immediately start again. Andrew poked Neil’s spine sharply. “Make it stop,” he complained.

Neil made a grunting noise but didn’t move. Andrew poked him again. Neil swatted at him but untangled himself and sat up. He looked so sleepily confused that Andrew’s heart hurt.

It took Neil two tries to pick up his phone from where he’d left it beside the bed, squinting at it suspiciously before sighing in resignation and answering it. “Alli, I told you not to—” He was cut off by a flurry of words from the other end of the call. Andrew couldn’t hear what Allison was saying but she sounded upset. “What photo,” asked Neil flatly. He glanced at Andrew and said, “Laptop,” under his breath.

Andrew nodded and padded out to the living room to get his laptop, carefully stepping around all the furry bodies writhing around his feet, convinced he was about to feed them.

“What, now?” Neil was demanding when he returned to his bedroom. “You know I’m on vacation.” He bit his lip in thought, shaking his head at whatever Allison was telling him. “I know. I know. No. Fine.” He gestured for the computer, holding the phone between his shoulder and ear as he opened it. “Give me an hour, at least. I don’t want—” He was cut off again, his lips ticking up into a wry half-smile. “Fuck you,” he said, sounding affectionate. “Yeah, I know. See you soon.” He hung up his phone, then powered it off and threw it next to him on the bed.

“What’s wrong?” asked Andrew tentatively.

Neil groaned and buried his head in his hands. “Apparently there’s a picture.”

“A picture,” Andrew repeated.

“Of us.”

Andrew felt a sinking sensation in his stomach as Neil opened his email and clicked on a link that Allison had sent him. As soon as the page loaded, his face went completely blank. Andrew peered past him to see a low-res photo of the two of them kissing under a giant headline that proclaimed: **NEIL JOSTEN SPENDS HOLIDAYS WITH SECRET GAY LOVER**. It had been taken at Christmas, if the fairy lights behind them on the balcony were any indication. Knowing that someone had witnessed that moment between them and taken a picture of it to share with the world felt like slime across Andrew’s skin. He shuddered in distaste.

Neil’s expression hadn’t changed at all; he was completely frozen. Andrew couldn’t help contrast his current expression to the shy, hopeful way he’d looked at Andrew before they’d kissed.

“I have to go deal with this,” said Neil without inflection. “Allison’s sending a car.”

“Uh,” said Andrew, thrown off balance. It was less than five minutes since he’d woken up safe and warm with Neil wrapped around him and now Neil was leaving. “When are you coming back?”

Neil blinked once, startled out of his icy blankness. “What?”

“Do you think you can come back before you have to go on your press tour?” Andrew asked. If not, he was going to find whoever took that photo and wring their neck; Neil had been planning to stay to his birthday until this happened.

Neil stared at him. “I’m not coming back.”

The bottom of Andrew’s stomach dropped out completely. “Ever?”

Neil rubbed a hand down his face and climbed out of bed without making eye contact. He started gathering the clothing he’d left strewn about the room.

Andrew stopped him with a hand around his upper arm. “You’re saying this is over.” He needed Neil to actually say the words.

“There is no this!” said Neil forcefully, wrenching himself free. “There’s only that.” He smacked the screen of the laptop. “Fuck, I knew it was too good to be true. All I wanted was to be a normal person for a while and they couldn’t even let me have that, could they?” He laughed mirthlessly. “I wonder which of your friends gave in to temptation and sold out where I was.”

Andrew bristled. “None of them would do this.”

“Clearly, one of them did,” sneered Neil. “Who else knew where I was? God, this is going to be such a shitstorm. All those fuckers who’ve been claiming that I was secretly gay are going to be vindicated. I’ll never have a label other than ‘gay’ from now on.”

“I’m sure it won’t be as terrible as you’re making it out to be.”

“What do you know about it?” demanded Neil. “I’ve been dealing with crap like this for literal years. This is not going away soon or easily.”

“So, stay,” Andrew practically begged, bile creeping up his throat at his tone. He swallowed down his discomfort and spoke evenly, “We’ll work through it together, the two of us.”

“We’re not an us,” said Neil, now angrily shoving his belongings into his duffle bag. “Once I leave, no one will be interested in you. You’re no one.”

Andrew stepped back, stung.

Neil sighed and stopped his furious packing. “I didn’t mean that how it sounded.”

“I think you did.”

“You have no idea what you’re even asking for,” said Neil tiredly. “You value your privacy and if I’m here with you, you’ll never have it again. Do you really want paparazzi lined up in front of your store, hoping for a shot of me? Bothering you and digging into your past? Into your family’s past? You might want me to stay now but it won’t be long before you resent me.”

Andrew recoiled at the idea of people spying on him and his family.

“Yeah, I thought so,” said Neil, now sounding infinitely sad. “It’s best if I just leave.” He slung his duffel over his shoulder, gently nudged Shirley aside with his foot, and turned to leave.

“Don’t go,” said Andrew, his voice breaking.

Neil glanced over his shoulder to give Andrew a heartbreaking look. “Don’t act so surprised,” he said softly. “You had to know this couldn’t last.”

With that, he was gone.

* * *

Andrew snaked a hand out of his blankets and hit replay. Yet again, Neil followed Allison, hand in hand, through the throng of press, the sunglasses doing little to conceal their famous faces. The stupid vultures hadn’t even waited until he’d reached L.A. before swarming; Andrew recognized the seating area in the San Francisco airport.

“Neil! Neil!” Voices crashed over each other as microphones were waved in his direction. “Who is he?” “What do you have to say to the gay community now?” “Why did you deny your sexuality for so long?” “How long have you been together?” “Is it serious?” “Who is he?” “Who is he?” “Who is he?”

Allison bent to murmur something in Neil’s ear, and Andrew caught the miniscule sag of his shoulders. He spun around to face the ravening idiots, pulling the sunglasses off to reveal eyes that were chips of glacial ice, nothing more. “You all really need to do your research if you believe that kissing someone disqualifies me from being asexual.”

“But—” came the chorus.

“No. You assholes like to pretend there’s only two letters in the acronym. I’ve always assumed it’s because you were too stupid to learn the rest. There are plenty of websites about this. I’ll talk when one of you actually makes an effort, okay?” He put the sunglasses back on and turned away.

“But Neil, you still haven’t answered. Who is he?”

Neil looked back over his shoulder, face impossible to read behind the dark lenses. “He’s nobody.” And then Allison towed him away.

Before Andrew could hit replay again, the laptop disappeared. Matt tucked it behind his back. “Get up. We’re going to Aaron’s.”

Andrew scrunched further into his pillows. “No.”

“Dude. You can’t just sit here for the rest of time, you’re going to start decomposing soon. Look, there’s green fuzz growing on your ear.” Andrew smacked away the hand that was sneaking towards him and pulled the blanket up to his chin, surreptitiously rubbing his ear. Matt sighed and sat down on the coffee table.

“Breakups suck, man. I get it. But it’s New Year’s. This is your chance to start over.”

“I’m not coming.”

An hour later found Andrew showered, dressed, and riding the elevator up to Aaron and Katelyn’s apartment. Matt seemed utterly impervious to the glares Andrew was throwing his way. He had won in the end by virtue of singing _Tomorrow_ at the top of his lungs until Andrew was ready to go mad and the neighbors were complaining.

One of these days Andrew would have to find a less stubborn roommate. With smaller lungs.

The chorus of “Happy New Year!” died on everyone’s lips as Andrew stalked into Aaron’s apartment behind Matt. He caught the anxious exchange of glances and ignored it all, dropping into the vacant spot between Renee and Katelyn without a word.

They didn’t bother him, just resumed whatever conversation they had been having when he arrived. He half-listened to Katelyn talk about the article she had submitted the day before—what was it with politicians and their inability to keep their dicks in their pants?—and Renee brainstorm a new dessert for the new year. Nicky and Kevin were arguing in the kitchen while not-so-subtly blocking Aaron from the stove, Thea was kicking Matt’s ass in arm-wrestling, and Dan and Erik were having some sort of in-depth political conversation that Andrew could not bring himself to listen to. It was safe and familiar, the routine pulling some of the tension from his shoulders; it was home, in a way Andrew never thought he could have. And yet—

Andrew gave himself a tiny shake, earning a questioning eyebrow from Renee. Not a moment too soon Kevin announced the food was ready, and everyone busied themselves grabbing a plate. The grand tradition of a Cheesy New Year’s had been continued, and Andrew took a generous helping of everything. And there his blissful invisibility ended.

“So Andrew,” Nicky said around his mouthful of enchilada, “have you heard anything from Neil? Ow!” He shot a glare at Matt as he rubbed his shin. “What the hell?”

“Ixnay on the Eilnay,” Matt stage-whispered, with a worried glance at Andrew.

“I was just asking,” Nicky said, aggrieved. “It’s so weird, the thing with the picture. Like, what are the odds of some random photographer seeing you guys?”

A murmur of agreement rippled around the room. Andrew wanted to scream; he didn’t need their pity; he didn’t need the proof that they had been talking about him, about Neil. He didn’t. All he needed was to go home and curl up under a blanket with three or four cats and not emerge until spring, when all this bullshit would be behind him and the world would have moved on to torturing the next celebrity unfortunate enough to get caught with their pants down. Figuratively or otherwise.

Aaron cleared his throat and changed the subject. Andrew might’ve been grateful, if it weren’t for the tell-tale redness of his ears and the furtive glances he kept shooting in Andrew’s direction. Something started to burn in Andrew’s stomach, and he didn’t think it was the queso.

They broke out Exploding Kittens after dinner. Andrew managed to play an Alter the Future card and trick Aaron into drawing an Exploding Kitten a few minutes into the first game. Renee seemed to recognize what he was doing; she gave Andrew a tiny nod when she defused a kitten, and his strategic use of an Attack card got Aaron out on the second game; Andrew exploded a few minutes later, but he didn’t care. The third time, Renee managed to knock Aaron out before Andrew could, and he shot her a dirty look that she met with a serene one of her own.

Aaron noped out of the fourth game, and Andrew followed him down to the bathroom. “Seriously, can’t I take a piss in peace?”

“Not until you admit it.”

Aaron’s ears were glowing red enough to be seen from space, but he just said, “Admit what?”

“It was you. The pictures.”

“I didn’t take the damn pictures, Andrew.”

“No, but you told somebody. Did you get a nice paycheck out of it? I imagine it was worth quite a bit.”

“No,” Aaron snapped, his whole face flushed, hands clenched into fists. But his eyes skimmed over Andrew’s, settling on his cheek instead.

“You’re a fucking liar, Aaron.” The name tasted bitter on his tongue, and he could read the guilt like a book in the tightness at the corners of his brother’s mouth.

“Okay, you know what? Yes. Fine. I told one of my coworkers, and maybe they told a reporter, I don’t know. I didn’t get paid, I didn’t sell you out, I wasn’t trying to screw you over, I just—I hate seeing you set up to get hurt. You deserve someone who’s going to stick around, and he was always going to leave.”

Andrew had half-turned away at the first words; he spun back, crowding Aaron’s space. “Maybe. Maybe you’re right. But—”

“Maybe? No, Andrew, I’m right. I’m sorry, I know you don’t want to hear this, but real life doesn’t work like this. Movie stars don’t fall in love with random bookstore owners with twelve cats, they just don’t. They keep to their own species.” There was something in Aaron’s eyes, something unforgivably like pity. “You’re usually smarter than this.”

Andrew shook his head slowly; he couldn’t deny the truth of Aaron’s words, but all he could think of was the tiny glimpse of heartbreak in Neil’s eyes as he laid out the differences between them, the reasons it couldn’t work, spread out on his bedspread like tarot cards. He swallowed down the grief in his throat. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe, it was worth having anyway? Even if it was only for a little while?”

Down the hall, the chant started. _Ten...nine...eight…_

Andrew turned, ignoring Aaron calling after him, ignoring Katelyn watching him with sadness in her eyes, ignoring Matt wrapped around Dan, and Nicky tucked under Erik’s arm, and Kevin tucked under Thea’s. _Four...three...two..._ The door clicked shut behind him, muffling the chorus of “Happy New Year!” as he walked out alone and silent into the starlit night.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'd like to apologise for the last chapter. And, uh, this chapter. Don't forget to check out the podficast linked below to soothe the pain, stay safe and hydrated and look after yourselves in these wild times pals!

"...as the great Jane Austen so aptly said: _The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel must be intolerably stupid_." 

Andrew looked up from where he was drawing invisible lines on his napkin and squeezed his brain like a sponge, but the context of the quote refused to dribble out. He was saved from having to scrounge for an appropriate answer when the waitress came with dessert, but even the chocolate lava cake didn’t look as appetizing as Roland’s blissful sigh made it seem. 

It wouldn’t measure up to Renee’s anyway, Andrew told himself, half-heartedly spooning some of the white chocolate sauce in his mouth. 

“You know, I think people have it all wrong,” Roland said, examining a morsel of cake on his fork. “Dessert should always be eaten first.” 

Andrew made an agreeing noise and quickly stuffed another bite into his mouth, chewing slowly. It wasn’t Roland’s fault that Andrew’s head wasn’t in the game. He had swiped right the moment he’d seen Roland’s picture, and he looked even hotter in real life, sitting across from Andrew with a smudge of chocolate on his lip. He had an easy smile and dimples, biceps to rival Matt’s, a good fashion sense and even better taste in dessert. His dog was well-trained and polite, currently napping underneath the table on Andrew’s feet. Roland even had all the right opinions on books and was in the last throes of a PhD in literature. They’d agreed on almost every author they’d talked about so far, and from what Andrew could tell, Roland’s family was very important to him and he had absolutely no interest in celebrity gossip of any kind. 

It was simultaneously the most perfect and the most boring date Andrew had ever been on. 

“Want the last raspberry?” Roland asked, gesturing with his fork. If he’d been with Neil, every single raspberry would have disappeared off that plate within seconds of it arriving, no questions asked. Andrew shook his head to dislodge that thought and watched as Roland speared the unlucky raspberry with his fork and put it in his mouth. 

“So… This isn’t working, is it?” Roland said with a rueful smile once he’d put down his fork. 

“No,” Andrew agreed, pushing the empty plate away. “It’s not because of...” 

He gestured weakly at Roland, who shrugged his beautiful shoulders and continued to smile. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not offended. It happens.” 

Andrew motioned for the waitress to bring their bill and looked out of the window that was nestled into the corner of their little booth. The street outside was slick and green with rain, though the clouds had loosened up a little, their bellies streaked pink and wet blue from the sunset. Spring had sneaked up on him like a cat on silent paws. One morning it had simply knocked over a jar, spilling birdsong and greenery everywhere, and yelled for food. 

“You know,” Roland said after a pause, “if you still wanted to go home together… I mean, I’d be up for it. Just a good old fuck, no strings attached.” 

Andrew opened his mouth to say yes, then stopped. Just as he’d had no appetite for the dessert earlier, he didn’t have any appetite for sex tonight. Once again the waitress appeared in time to break the awkward silence and he paid for their food and tipped her maybe a bit too ambitiously judging by the way her eyebrows rose, though he was sure Renee would have approved. When she bustled off, he stood from his chair and cleared his throat. 

“I’m gonna go,” he said. “Good luck with your thesis. And… everything else.” 

“Thanks,” Roland said. “You too, Andrew. I hope you find what you’re looking for.” 

Andrew put the collar of his jacket up and stepped outside into the brisk evening. He wasn’t looking for anything. He had his shop and his cats and his family, his life was already complete. Sure, lately he’d felt a bit left out with everyone else partnered off; Matt was still in full-on honeymoon phase with Dan, and Renee spent her weekends Skyping her tentative new long-distance boyfriend in France. Things had been a bit rocky for a while when Thea had discovered that she was pregnant despite all precautions, but everyone was getting settled again, Kevin was devouring book after book on parenting, and Renee still made time to hang out with Andrew and let him taste-test all her newest creations. 

Andrew had even patched things up with Aaron after barely speaking to him for a month. Several sessions of Andrew thoroughly thrashing Aaron at whatever video game Matt brought home that week had helped speed up the process, though Aaron clearly still felt guilty. He kept dropping unsubtle hints and questions about Andrew’s dating life and talked at length about his gay coworker whenever Andrew was around, like he thought he could make things right by finding a replacement for Neil. It had been primarily Aaron, Katelyn and Nicky’s nagging that made Andrew re-activate his old Tinder account, and Andrew sighed at the prospect of Nicky’s disappointment when he inevitably had to tell him that today’s date had been a bust. Again. 

Still. Life had been worse for Andrew. If there was still a dullness to the world it was just the cold dregs of seasonal depression, and soon enough the summer breeze would clear away the cobwebs and things would go back to normal. Well, as normal as they could be with a small person on the way, but Andrew was resolutely not thinking about how terrifying that was. Or the fact that Kevin had asked him, in a clear lapse of judgment, if he would be godfather. 

He walked around for a little while longer, breathing in the clear night air and gazing at the lit-up window displays of the shops without really seeing anything. Then he went home, locked the door of the shop behind himself, and grabbed a few books off the shelves without having to look what they were. Nicky had left some chocolatey rooibos tea in the kitchen and Andrew fixed himself a cup before settling in the dusty, cat-hair encrusted armchair in the back with his mug and his books, and stepped through into faraway fictional worlds where Andrew Minyard didn’t exist. 

* * *

June was shaping up to be a sunny month, which irrationally annoyed Andrew to no end. He didn’t live in San Francisco for the sun; where was his grey, drizzly weather that matched his mood, or the fog rolling in off the bay? January and February had maintained the proper aesthetic but it had been unseasonably warm and bright since mid-April. It contrasted how he felt. 

Nicky had spent all morning prattling at Andrew while restocking their romance section; they’d just received a box full of mostly cheap supernatural romance paperbacks with titles like _My Secret Werewolf Lover_ and _Bitten by a Vampire_. Books like that usually sold quite well to people who bought them by the handful and wouldn’t make eye contact while they paid for them. 

“What are you reading, anyway?” asked Nicky when he came over to receive his daily money for lunch. 

Andrew tipped his book up to show him the cover without pausing in his reading. 

Nicky scoffed loudly. Andrew was almost grateful for the derision; it had taken a while before Nicky had stopped reassuring Andrew that Neil would surely come back and even longer before he stopped making sad eyes at Andrew and whispering like he was on his deathbed. “When’s the last time you read something other than depressing Russian literature?” 

“It’s a classic.” 

“Doesn’t make it un-depressing,” said Nicky. He headed back to the romance section and tossed something onto the counter in front of Andrew. “Here, I’m going for lunch; read something lighter.” 

“No romance,” said Andrew, flipping a page idly. He wasn’t in the mood for easy, manufactured romance. Life didn’t work that way and it was pointless to pretend it did. 

“The dialogue is so overwrought it’s basically a comedy,” argued Nicky. “The number of euphemisms the author uses for cock is hilarious.” 

“No.” 

“Okay, but you’re missing out on reading about veiny meat sticks and molten iron rods,” laughed Nicky. He called, “Pulsing member!” over his shoulder as he left the shop. 

Andrew heard the door open again and sighed in exhaustion. “No matter what you say, I’m not touching your throbbing manhood—” He trailed off, the words _-filled porn book_ stuck in his throat. Because it wasn’t Nicky coming back to shout ridiculous euphemisms at him. It was someone wholly unexpected. 

Neil pushed his sunglasses up onto his head with one hand while the other one stayed shoved into the pouch of his large hoodie. He looked… good, actually. Tanned and fit. Andrew noticed he’d lost a little bit of weight, which only had the maddening effect of making his cheekbones even sharper and more pronounced. He also had a couple days’ worth of stubble that made him look scruffy; Andrew shouldn’t have liked it—he’d always preferred men clean-shaven—but apparently there was nothing Neil could do to dim his attractiveness. Although swamped in his hoodie, he was wearing tight jeans that didn’t leave the shape of his thighs to imagination. He was looking at Andrew with a mixture of sheepishness and hope. 

“You sure?” he asked archly. “There’s nothing I can say to change your mind?” 

Andrew couldn’t formulate an answer, stuck mouthing w shapes as his brain bounced between what and why. 

Neil took pity on him. “I assume that wasn’t meant for me, or else we’re not off to a very auspicious start.” He cleared his throat. “I’m in town for a con and I found… well…” He came farther into the shop while carefully extracting a tiny, black kitten from the pouch of his hoodie and gently setting it on the counter. “She’s a stray. And the woman at the shelter told me black cats rarely get adopted, especially cause of this,” he stoked along her left ear, which had a large chunk missing from it, “so obviously I couldn’t leave her there. But I don’t have a stable home, unless… So. I brought her to you.” 

“You brought me a cat,” said Andrew flatly, unsure of how he should be feeling. Mostly he felt overwhelmed at seeing Neil’s face again. He’d assured himself after months apart that Neil couldn’t possibly be as gorgeous as he remembered him, that it was all airbrushing, but he’d been wrong. 

Neil nodded. “I named her Laika. After the space dog, remember? I know you like to call them after book characters and I figured non-fiction books count.” 

“You showed up after all this time only to give me a cat?” asked Andrew, holding out a hand and letting Laika sniff it. Integrating a new cat with the others was often a difficult process but Andrew could already tell that he was going to let her stay. 

“No,” said Neil instantly. “Or, well, not completely. I actually did find her—that’s not a lie—but I was grateful for something to break the ice?” His voice went up at the end of the sentence, clearly unsure of his welcome. 

“You said you weren’t coming back.” 

“I know,” grimaced Neil. “That was shitty of me. I was upset and I ran from you. Once things calmed down, Allison was incredibly vocal about how much I overreacted.” 

“It’s been over five months,” Andrew pointed out. If Neil wanted to contact him before this, he easily could have. Andrew knew he had his number. 

“I wasn’t sure what to say,” replied Neil in a small voice. 

Andrew examined him for a couple beats, his heart beating traitorously fast in his chest. “Why are you here?” 

“Because I was wrong,” said Neil directly. “I shouldn’t have left. Or, I should have, because I had to deal with the goddamn press, but I should have come back. And I want to. Come back.” It was stilted and unpracticed, unlike any of the countless heartfelt movie speeches Andrew had witnessed Neil give. 

“I’ve always run from anything even remotely difficult,” continued Neil. “I thought I was protecting you, but I was really protecting myself. I didn’t want you to see that side of my life. You wouldn’t be the first person who decided I wasn’t worth the trouble.” 

“I…” 

“I know I should have let you decide for yourself,” said Neil, hurriedly. “It won’t happen again. Can I have a second chance to prove it to you? I’ve missed you so much; I want to be with you.” 

Andrew swallowed against the lump that had appeared in his throat. “What about…?” he trailed off and gestured vaguely at the outside world. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was asking about—the press, Neil’s previous objections, Neil’s job. 

“It wouldn’t be completely smooth,” Neil admitted. “More pictures of us would be printed and I can’t promise that you’ll be left alone. But they’re far more interested in me, and Allison and I have come up with a plan to keep you out of the worst of it. I can tell you about it... if you’re willing to take me back, that is.” 

“What happens to me?” 

Neil’s forehead creased in confusion. “What do you mean? With the press?” 

“The next time you leave me,” clarified Andrew. “When you get scared or it’s too hard or it falls apart? What happens to me then?” 

“I won’t—” 

“Because your face is everywhere,” interjected Andrew. “The bus that drives by the shop had your face on the side of it for all of March. And last time I was on a date, the guy suggested going to see the newest Neil Josten movie. And there’s a billboard downtown where your eyes follow me wherever I go. So how am I supposed to move on after you run again?” 

Neil looked gut punched. “Are you dating? I don’t want to interfere. I didn’t even ask, I just assumed…” 

“I’m not. Because you’ve been fucking haunting me.” 

“I’m so sorry for leaving,” said Neil miserably. “I know I can’t say anything to make you believe me, but I’m not going to run again. When I do have to leave, I promise I will always come back to you.” 

Andrew nodded in understanding and Neil’s shoulders relaxed as his face creased into a tentative smile. He looked shy and hesitant, exactly as he had before they’d kissed for the first time. Andrew was thrown back to that moment, the soft twinkle lights illuminating Neil’s face as the world faded away into the background. He remembered how natural it had felt, how Neil had slipped into his life so easily as if there had always been a spot waiting for him. But he also knew what came next: the days of misery as he lay, unable to get up, covered in fuzzy blankets and curious cats (and occasionally getting the breath knocked out of him by Rufus radiating earnest, doggy concern), the overall greyness of life, and the lackluster dates where he couldn’t even muster up the will to have meaningless sex because Neil’s face was always in his mind. He knew he couldn’t go through it again and come out intact. 

“I can’t,” said Andrew, making the hopeful smile slide off Neil’s face. “It won’t work. We come from different worlds. You’re Famous Actor Neil Josten. And I’m just a guy in a bookshop. A nobody.” 

Neil flinched. “You’re not nobody to me,” he whispered. 

Andrew looked away. “I don’t fit into your life. And you don’t fit into mine.” 

“I am famous,” Neil said, his tone pleading, “but I’m also me. Neil. I’m not perfect; I know I made a huge mistake. But you are one of the few people in the world who know the real me and want me anyway. Or you were.” 

“You were right when you left. We both knew it was always going to be temporary.” Neil was not someone a person like Andrew got to keep, not long-term. 

“That’s it, then?” Neil asked in a small voice. “You won’t give me a second chance?” 

Andrew didn’t reply, not trusting his voice to remain steady. It was the smart thing to do, the best way to protect himself, but all the logic in the world couldn’t help ease the pain in his chest. He felt as if his heart was breaking all over again. 

Neil’s face crumpled completely before he forcibly smoothed it out. He balled his hands into fists and glared at the counter, blinking rapidly until the wetness in his eyes was gone. When he looked up, his perfect Famous Actor Neil Josten mask was in place. 

He slid his sunglasses back over his eyes, hiding them completely. “Well, you’ve made yourself clear,” he said stiffly, reaching out to stroke Laika's back one final time. “Thank you for taking the cat off my hands and I apologize for wasting so much of your time.” He paused infinitesimally and then straightened, stepping back. “Goodbye, Andrew.” 

He turned and left the shop without looking back. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your comments and, uh, general despair. It gets better, we promise!

Andrew stared numbly at the stack of unshelved romance novels, the bright colors just a blur. He was awake. He was like, ninety-nine percent sure he was both awake and not suffering from any sort of delusional disorder. The tiny black kitten in his hands squeaked and dug her needles into his palm; he hissed and set her onto the counter to shake his hand. Definitely awake, then.

Nicky breezed in, already mid-sentence. “...ran into Roland, he says hi.” He set the iced chai onto the counter, then a sandwich, not even blinking when Laika smacked the paper-wrapped square with a microscopic paw. “I still think you should give him a second chance, he’s really into you. And Katelyn texted…” He trailed off, but Andrew barely noticed the sudden silence over the buzzing in his ears. “Andrew? Earth to Andrew!”

A hand waved in front of Andrew’s face, and he blinked and recoiled. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” The words came out wrong, thick and hoarse and too slow. Andrew shook his head, but it didn’t clear.

“What the fuck is wrong with _you?_ You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Maybe that was it. Neil’s spirit had astral-projected here and told Andrew exactly what he wanted to hear. Somehow the spirit had picked up a disheveled kitten along the way. Yes, that seemed more plausible than the alternative.

The kitten pounced onto the hand Nicky had left on the counter; he jumped three feet off the ground like a cartoon character but Andrew couldn’t find it in him to laugh. “How long has this cat been here?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe twenty minutes?”

“Where did it come from?”

Andrew swallowed and braced himself for impact. “Neil.”

Nicky’s shouted, “What?” was loud enough to cause a tidal wave in Australia. Laika skittered off the counter and hid on Andrew’s knees. “Where is he? Is he upstairs? I’m going to have to give him a piece of my mind. After I give him a giant hug.”

“He’s gone.”

“He’s—gone? Like, gone-gone?”

Andrew nodded mutely. Nicky just stared at him, for once utterly devoid of words. The door jingled, and they both turned towards the sound like sunflowers towards the sun, but it was a woman with a baby attached to her in a complicated contraption made from one of those colorful pieces of cloth. She didn’t even notice their scrutiny, dragging herself towards the tiny parenting section, only to pause to flip through one of the lurid romances with a translucent, overly-muscled man on the cover.

Nicky regained the power of speech. “What—how? He just dumped a damaged kitten on you and disappeared again?”

“Don’t you dare,” Andrew said, cuddling Laika to him. Her purring echoed through the shop, and he wondered how such a tiny creature could make such a noise. Evidently it acted as a beacon, because Shirley and the Dashwood sisters appeared out of nowhere to inspect the new arrival. “She’s perfect. And he didn’t dump her, he wanted to stay. But I told him to go.”

“You’re kidding. You’re kidding? You must be kidding.” Nicky blinked at him for a moment. “Right. You’re not kidding. I, uh. Just hang on, don’t go anywhere.” He pulled out his phone and typed something, not taking his eyes off of Andrew.

Andrew’s phone buzzed, and he glanced at it. A group text to everyone from Nicky. _Emergency family meeting at the shop._

“This isn’t necessary,” Andrew said, shrinking back into his chair while four cats dangled off of every available surface to sniff at Laika. The little thing poofed out at the scrutiny, but none of the girls cared. Elinor took a tentative lick of the top of Laika’s head, and that seemed to signal a group cleaning session. The purring got louder even as the kitten disappeared under a sea of cat.

“You don’t get an opinion here,” Nicky said. The woman approached the counter with two parenting books, the ghost romance tucked between them. “I’m running home, I’ll be back in a few.”

Andrew wasn’t sure how long Nicky was gone. He wasn’t sure if anyone came into the store; he could’ve been robbed at gunpoint for all he knew by the time Nicky returned with a bemused Erik and a package wrapped in brown paper. Renee arrived next, with a bag of fortifying brownies and Dan on her heels. Then Aaron and Katelyn, Kevin arguing with them about prenatal vitamins while Thea rolled her eyes behind them, followed by a text from an apologetic Matt. _Just saw this b there soon_

Everyone else crowded themselves into the seating area near the counter. “What’s going on?” Aaron asked. Nicky bent down to scoop a protesting Laika away from her new mothers. “You called an emergency meeting just because Andrew got a new cat? I have a night shift.”

Nicky drew himself up and raised the kitten aloft like she was Simba. “I called an emergency meeting because _Neil_ came back, _gave_ Andrew a new cat, and practically _threw_ himself at Andrew with promises of lots of make-up sex.”

“That’s not even remotely what happened.”

Nicky went on as if Andrew hadn’t spoken. “And Andrew told him to leave.”

Silence reigned. Seven pairs of eyes stared at Andrew, all with identical expressions of shock. Kevin cleared his throat. “I, um. I guess that...makes....sense?”

“It does,” Katelyn said reassuringly. “Total sense.”

“I mean what was he thinking?” Dan asked. “Showing up after all this time.”

“Right?” Aaron glanced around at everyone. “He could’ve texted or something.”

Nicky grimaced and held out the brown paper package. “He did send this. I mean he’d ordered it before the whole picture thing, so maybe that doesn’t count?”

Andrew took the package and stared at it, with its little twine bow. “How did you get this?”

“He’d asked me if he could have it sent to my house, so it would be a surprise. But it didn’t come until the end of January and I didn’t know what to do. Kevin and Thea told me to just hide it somewhere.”

“Hey!” Thea protested. “I was hormonal. You can’t blame me for your bad decisions.”

The bow came undone in Andrew’s fumbling fingers, and he tore off the paper. A book with a green cover was revealed, the binding obviously very old, the edges worn and soft. Gilt letters identified it: _A Memoir of Jane Austen to Which is Added Lady Susan._ He flipped the cover open; the publication date was listed as 1871. “Fuck.”

“Still. Six months,” Thea said. “That’s a long time for him not to reach out, after what he did.”

There was a general hum of agreement, but Andrew couldn’t take his eyes off the book. The pages had the reddish tinge of great age, but the type was still crisp. It was—beautiful. Beautiful and impossible and...and Andrew closed it, pushing it away just as the door flew open.

Matt and Rufus burst in, panting in unison. “What did I miss?”

There was a brief and silent draw of the short straw; Aaron sighed and ticked things off on his fingers. “Neil came back. He gave Andrew a cat and what appears to be a rare and expensive book. Andrew told him to leave, so now he’s gone off again.”

“Andrew did what now?” Matt looked around for the punchline. “That’s not a joke? He really did something that stupid?”

“Hush, Matt,” Dan murmured. “We’re being supportive.”

“Oh, okay, supportive. Right.” There was a beat of silence, then, “Why are we being supportive of Andrew being a fucking idiot?”

Everyone looked at each other. Katelyn started to say something, then subsided, shaking her head. Matt swept the book off the countertop, waving it in Andrew’s general direction. “Neil obviously cares about you, and you’re throwing this away? After I’ve spent the last however long having to peel you off the couch every day?”

“Oh. Oh no,” Andrew said, horrified realization hitting him like a punch to the chin. The book—Neil didn’t know it had been lurking in Nicky’s sock drawer or wherever. He had been waiting for Andrew’s response, all this time. Which meant—

Neil thought Andrew had been ignoring _him._

“Oh, fuck, I’m a fucking idiot.”

“You are,” Kevin, Nicky, and Katelyn chorused. Rufus boofed his agreement, looking between them with his ears on lopsided high alert.

“So stupid,” Dan added.

Kevin stood up, turned in a circle, and sat down again. “So… what do we do now?”

“The hotel where he’s staying,” Nicky said. “He must have gone back there, right? We can drive there—”

“Car’s in the garage,” Andrew said numbly. “The one fucking day of the year where I need it—”

“Kevin, how fast is your car?” Renee cut in.

“Uh,” Kevin said, but Renee had already pinched his keys from him and threw them at Andrew.

“Go,” she said.

“Erik and I will mind the shop,” Nicky agreed, nodding so fervently Andrew was worried he might get a crick in his neck.

Andrew was swept out into the street and into Kevin’s car. After a brief squabble Matt, Aaron, Kevin and Renee piled in after him, leaving Thea in Dan’s care, and Andrew started the car before stalling it again.

“Where’s Katelyn?”

“She’s not coming.”

“Oh, fuck that,” Aaron growled. “Kevin, get in the back.”

Kevin squawked but let himself be bundled into the trunk of the car while Andrew went around and helped a protesting Katelyn into the passenger seat and Aaron crammed her folded wheelchair in after Kevin. As soon as Andrew peeled out of the parking spot they immediately started arguing over the quickest route, Aaron and Kevin trying to shout over each other while Renee murmured instructions at Andrew and Katelyn clapped her hands over her ears.

“Turn right! Turn right!”

“Can’t, it’s only one way.”

“Do a U turn!”

Andrew pulled the car around, ignoring the angry chorus of honking around him, and brought it to a stop in a no-parking zone. Kevin scrambled out of the trunk and into the driver’s seat to find a better spot while Matt and Renee followed him into the hotel lobby.

The concierge watched with a stoic face as Andrew listed all of the aliases he knew Neil had used to check into hotels in the past.

“Alex Cross?” Andrew tried, increasingly desperate. “Or maybe Stefan Salvatore? Christopher Robin? Arthur Dent?”

“No,” the concierge said, then leaned forward to murmur: “But there was an Edmund Bertram who checked out an hour ago. I believe he was on his way to a press conference at the Fairmont.”

“Right,” Andrew said, “Edmund. Of course. Thanks.”

Matt looked like he was about to smack a great big kiss on the poor concierge, so Andrew quickly grabbed his sleeve and pulled him towards the exit. Kevin evidently hadn’t found a parking spot and kept circling around, and Aaron hailed him down so they could climb back inside.

“To the Fairmont,” Matt called, muffled from where he was occupying Kevin’s earlier spot in the trunk now. Andrew would have liked to kick Kevin out of the driver’s seat and take the wheel himself, but there was no time for that now.

Traffic had increased since earlier. Andrew kept checking his watch, frowning as the minutes ticked past. How long could a press conference be? Neil had said he was only in town for a con, which probably meant he would be leaving again after—but how soon was that? He’d already checked out of his hotel. Knowing Allison, she’d have a taxi waiting for him outside the Fairmont the minute the conference was over.

“Fuck,” he hissed as they slowed to a crawl once more.

“Let me out,” Matt’s voice came from the trunk. “I can stop the other cars and you can go—”

“Absolutely not,” Andrew and Aaron snarled at the same time.

“Agreed,” Kevin gulped. “We’re already breaking all sorts of regulations, let’s not add a traffic accident to the list.”

“Or worse, public indecency,” Aaron grumbled. “What was your big plan, Boyd? Strip and distract everyone with your helicopter dick?”

“Contrary to what you seem to believe, not every problem can be solved with my dick,” Matt said, amused.

“We’re almost there,” Katelyn announced.

Andrew was first out of the car, even though Kevin was still attempting to maneuver it more neatly into the narrow parking space. The others took a moment to sort themselves out, and Andrew skidded to a halt in front of the first semi-official looking guy in a suit he spotted inside the hotel lobby.

“Where’s the press conference?”

“I’m afraid you’re rather late,” the attendant said, scowling disapprovingly at Andrew who realized he was wearing a sweatshirt covered in cat hair and a few bits of homemade popcorn from their last movie night were still clinging to his jeans.

“Yes, uh, got stuck in traffic,” Andrew muttered. “Just tell me where it is, and I’ll…”

He waved his hand around.

“Are you an accredited member of the press?” the attendant asked.

“Yes,” Andrew said. “I’m with, uh, _Horse and Hound_.”

The attendant looked expectantly at him.

“Your ID, sir,” he prompted when Andrew didn’t provide it. Andrew made a show of patting down his pockets.

“I must have left it in the car…”

“No ID, no entrance, sir.”

“He’s with me,” someone said behind them. Andrew almost didn’t recognize Katelyn’s official business voice—she used it so rarely around them, and since she worked from home a lot it was easy to forget that she was a renowned, kick-ass journalist. A simple flash of her press card was enough to get Andrew into the conference room, and he tumbled in just as they were wrapping up.

“...he’ll be abiding by all his present commitments,” Allison was saying into the microphone. “He just won’t be making any new films for the next year.”

“Neil! How much longer will you be staying in San Francisco?” one reporter asked.

“No time at all,” Neil said tiredly. “I leave tonight.”

He looked—grey, even in the dazzling light from the chandelier that hung from the opulent ceiling. His hair was combed back and too flat, too neat; his eyes had dark bags under them. Seeing him in a freshly pressed suit with not even a smudge of cat hair on him, no trace of his usual teasing humour left in the corner of his mouth, felt profoundly wrong.

“The last time you were here, there were some photographs taken of you with a local man,” another reporter said. “So, what happened there?”

“He was a friend,” Neil said after a pause, then more quietly: “Still is, I hope.”

“Final questions, please,” Allison announced over the babble. She caught Andrew’s eye the moment Andrew stepped forward, though her poker face was impeccable even as she pointed at him. “Yes, you, the poorly dressed gatecrasher. What have you got to say?”

The group quieted.

“I,” Andrew said, throat dry as attention shifted to him. He saw the moment Neil recognized him in the crowd, though he covered it up quickly. “Is there any possibility of you staying around longer?”

Neil stared him down for so long that Andrew was starting to sweat under the warm light of the chandeliers.

“No,” he said at last, “it was made very clear to me that my presence is not needed here anymore.”

Andrew swallowed and it hurt a little, like he’d eaten a piece of fruit with the pit still attached.

“What if—”

“One question per person only,” someone hissed at him peevishly.

“Let him speak,” Allison said wryly.

“So, this friend of yours,” Andrew forced out, still holding Neil’s stony gaze. “Do you think he could be a more permanent fixture in your life, if—if he realized that he’d been an idiot to let you go? And would that change your mind about staying?”

Neil gazed at him for a long moment while the other reporters murmured in confusion.

“It might,” Neil said at last. “If he made it sufficiently clear how much of an idiot he was, and threw in a couple of those nice French pears with the fancy cheese.”

The smile tiptoed back on his face like a stolen painting being returned to a museum. The noise level rose around Andrew, but he felt like a rock amid unruly waves, perfectly still and solid and rooted to the spot.

“Great,” he said weakly. “That’s great. The readers of _Horse and Hound_ will be delighted.”

There was some scattered laughter, though most people still hadn’t caught on who Andrew was. Andrew didn’t care and kept his eyes on Neil the whole time while Allison wrapped up the conference. Matt came up and slung an arm around him that Andrew easily shook off, just to get his shoulder punched by Katelyn and a pat on the back from Kevin. Neil disappeared in a flood of reporters and camera flashes went off around him in a dizzying pattern, but all Andrew felt was the muted vibration of his phone in his pocket with what he knew would be a message from Neil.


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This all started when a fantastic fandom artist @cats-are-assholes, sent me an ask, wondering if I would ever do a collab and if so, with who. Despite my fears of somehow Messing Everything Up, I said yes, and mentioned two authors I have always admired both as people and as writers. Luckily for me, they were more than happy to join me on this project, and it ended up being more fun and more rewarding than I could ever have imagined.
> 
> Part of why it was so rewarding was because of you all, our readers. Seeing the reactions, watching you fall in love with Neil as Andrew did, feeling your hurt, listening to you yell (my ears were ringing!) - it all has meant the world to me these past few months. So thank you so much for reading and engaging and being your amazing selves. -Fuzz

_One Year Later_

Andrew was suspiciously sniffing the spinach and trying to decide if it was too old to add to his omelette when he heard a key in the door. He wandered out of the kitchen with a quick glance at the clock. It wasn’t yet eight so it was far too early for Nicky, Matt didn’t live here anymore (having moved in with Dan the previous autumn), and Neil wasn’t due back until after lunch.

“Honey, I’m ho-ome,” called Neil, pushing open the door. At the sound of his voice, Gandalf, who was a terrible guard cat and hadn’t shown any interest in the sounds at the door, was up and out of his seat and impatiently circling Neil’s ankles squawking loudly. Neil spoiled all the cats shamelessly and he’d quickly become their favorite shortly after he’d moved in.

“Your plane doesn’t land until the afternoon,” protested Andrew. He’d been planning on closing up early and surprising Neil at the airport. After that fateful day the previous June, it had taken the two of them some time (and several arguments) to work everything out. Now, though, Andrew trusted that Neil would always come home to him and Neil believed that Andrew wanted him to stay.

“I know,” said Neil, from where he was kneeling on the floor and letting several cats climb all over him and curiously sniff every inch of his clothing. He was dressed in a horribly wrinkled tux which likely cost more than every single item in Andrew’s apartment put together. It looked like he’d slept in it, although the dark circles under his eyes indicated he hadn’t slept well. “I couldn’t wait. I needed to be _home_.”

Neil had been officially living with him (whenever he was in town, which was the majority of the time but still less than Andrew preferred) ever since Matt and Rufus had moved out. Andrew sometimes missed the big lug (both of them), but he wouldn’t trade Neil’s presence for anything.

“Did you drive?” asked Andrew, pulling him up off the floor and into a welcoming kiss.

Neil kissed him back readily and then nodded somewhat sheepishly. “You know I love and support Allison but I couldn’t handle staying for her entire launch party. Besides Renee was there to keep her company.”

“I still can’t believe your heiress publicist swept in and stole our Renee.”

“She hardly stole her,” said Neil with an eye roll. “She’s helping her open up a Heaven’s Kitchen franchise in L.A. Besides, they seem happy together. In any case, I left a little after midnight.”

“And drove for seven hours without any sleep,” scoffed Andrew. “Did you at least borrow one of Allison’s nicer cars?” At one point Neil had showed up in a Maserati, which had been fun to drive, if not completely practical in San Francisco’s winding streets.

Neil yawned. “Nah, it’s her pink Porsche again.”

Andrew frowned; that car clashed with his whole aesthetic. He pushed Neil towards his bedroom. “Go get changed; I’m making breakfast.”

He returned to the kitchen while Neil ducked into the second bedroom. It had been Matt’s and was technically now Neil’s but it only served to hold the exorbitant amount of clothing Neil owned. He donated his used clothes regularly, but Allison kept sending him more. Andrew didn’t mind—he liked dressing Neil up.

“How was—argrgh!” called Neil.

“You okay there?” checked Andrew.

“Laika,” sighed Neil. She enjoyed climbing up on top of anything tall and perching there like a gargoyle until one of them walked by at which point she launched herself on top of them. It was a habit that was significantly less cute than it had been when she was tiny.

Andrew felt a smile tugging on his lips as he turned back to the stove. It was shiny and new; Neil had replaced it and all the cabinets as soon as he’d moved in, arguing that he’d prefer appliances that had never been on fire. They’d had a brief argument about Neil spending too much money on Andrew, but Neil had ended it as soon as he admitted he just wanted to be comfortable in his new home, since he’d never had one before. Andrew had been perfectly aware that he was being unsubtly manipulated but couldn’t bring himself to care.

Neil returned wearing a t-shirt sporting the asexual pride flag he’d worn to march in last month’s Pride parade. He’d paired it with navy sweatpants that had enough ginger hair stuck to them that Shirley had likely used them as a bed. He looked rumpled and gorgeous and perfect. As much as Andrew liked dressing him up, he preferred him looking like this: soft and comfortable and at home. It was something Neil’s legions of fans never got to see; he was only like this for Andrew.

“Guess what?” Neil asked, taking a seat at the table, knowing to keep out of Andrew’s way while he was cooking.

“Hmm?”

“I got offered a script I like.”

“Any horses?” asked Andrew dryly.

“Yes, actually,” laughed Neil. “And a few hounds, too. It’s _Mansfield Park_. As Edmund.”

Andrew groaned. “You’re going to make me be attracted to Edmund fucking Bertram, aren’t you? Asshole.”

“Hey, you dared me.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Plus, he’s not that bad.”

“He’s a stuck-up snob,” argued Andrew.

“‘ _If this man had not twelve thousand a year, he would be a very stupid fellow_ ’,” quoted Neil, effortlessly slipping into a British accent—well, into an RP accent. Andrew had once made the mistake of referring to it as a British accent and was subjected to a very long lecture about the many different accents of the British Isles. “Tell me that doesn’t get you going?”

“I hate you,” said Andrew, feeling his ears heat with a blush. He covered it by dropping a plate of food in front of Neil before stalking back to the stove to make his own breakfast.

They ate in silence, punctuated by Neil’s frequent yawns and sleepy blinking.

“Imma nap,” he muttered when they finished up.

“We can go out when you get up,” Andrew said. “I was planning on closing up early.”

“I don’t understand how you make any profit, randomly closing the shop whenever you feel like it.”

“If I wanted to make a profit, I wouldn’t own a second hand book shop.”

“Touche,” said Neil. “Why do you, by the way? I never asked why you bought it.”

Andrew started, somehow surprised that Neil didn’t already know. Everyone important in his life knew how he’d ended up with the book shop so it was incongruous that Neil didn’t. “I grew up mostly in Oakland but when I was about twelve I got sent across the bay. My first foster home wasn’t too far from here and I used to come here to get away.” Neil nodded in understanding. “The guy who owned it, Mr. Higgins, was pretty old but he was nice enough. He left me to my own devices, although he’d sometimes suggest a book or make me a cup of hot cocoa.”

“You bought it from him?”

“No; I worked here through the end of high school and when I was on breaks from college, until one day I showed up and it was barred up. A lawyer contacted me about a week later; Mr. Higgins had died in his sleep but he left me the shop and the apartment above it because he knew I wouldn’t change it or sell it.” Andrew shrugged. “I’d just finished college and I had nothing better to do.”

“That is...oddly sweet, somehow.”

“Shut up.”

“No, but like, you’re keeping an old man’s dream alive, or something. I bet it was comforting to him to know you were there. You’re literally fulfilling a dying wish.”

“Ugh.” Andrew stood up and collected their plates. “Go take a nap and don’t talk to me until you’re in a less sappy mood.”

“Okay,” Neil agreed, pressing a kiss to Andrew’s temple on the way by. “I promise to be in full asshole mode when I wake up.”

Shirley, Oliver, and Charlie followed Andrew down the stairs to the shop; no doubt the rest of the cats were busy smothering Neil in his sleep. He puttered around, straightening cushions and reshelving books that had been put back in the wrong spots. They had received a box of travel books a few days earlier, and he pulled one off the shelf to flip through it. He didn’t think Neil had ever been to Bolivia. There was a picture that made him pause: a vast expanse of blue, water and sky blending into each other until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. He imagined taking Neil there, looking out over something so impossibly beautiful, the way Neil’s breath would hitch like it always did when he fell in love with something new—

The jangling of the door had him shoving the book under the counter, but it was just Nicky with his iced caramel macchiato. “Morning, sunshine,” he said, handing off the cup, condensation trailing down the side. “When does your better half arrive?”

“Got back a couple hours ago,” Andrew said.

“Aww, I wish you’d told me, I would’ve gotten him a coffee.” Nicky slipped out of his jacket and hung it on his hook. “Whatcha reading?”

Andrew held it up. Nicky’s eyebrows quirked in question, and Andrew dropped it back in his lap. “He’s got a break in a couple months between filming, I figured maybe we could go somewhere.”

There was something aggravatingly soft and knowing in Nicky’s answering smile. “I’ll watch the shop for you.” He moved on to continue the tidying up Andrew had started, chattering about Kevin and Thea; he had babysat for tiny Amalia the night before, and she was crawling everywhere and pulling herself up on all the furniture. Andrew huffed a laugh as Nicky described Amalia opening the pantry—in defiance of the childproof locks—and spilling cereal everywhere, flinging handfuls at Nicky as he tried to clean up.

The sun was starting its downward trajectory by the time Neil trailed in, hair damp, dressed in his incognito outfit of jeans and a too-big sweater he had stolen from Andrew. He perused the shelves while Andrew locked up the register, tucking a paperback into his back pocket before Andrew could see what it was. They left the shop and meandered through the streets, Neil fending off Andrew’s periodic attempts at book thievery, finally putting a stop to it by taking Andrew’s hand firmly in his own.

Yerba Buena was teeming with people, college students playing Frisbee, kids dodging each other with squeals of laughter, solitary people in suits sitting by the fountain with sushi containers. Neil led them to one of the trees, flopping in the grass at the edge of the shadows and tilting his head back to catch the golden rays of the sun. Andrew settled down cross-legged at Neil’s feet.

“What did you pick today?”

“Always so impatient,” Neil said with a grin.

“Well, so far you’ve done abysmally at picking my favorite non-Austen book. I’m curious to see how you failed this time.”

Neil rolled enough to tug the book from his pocket and tossed it at Andrew. He stared down at the familiar cover, tracing the letters that curled across it. _The Princess Bride._ After a moment, he flipped it open and started to read.

“This is it, isn’t it?” Neil asked after a while. He had shifted so his head was in Andrew’s lap, and somehow Andrew’s fingers had found their way into his hair. “This is your favorite.”

“One of them,” Andrew admitted. “How can you tell?”

“There’s something different about your voice.”

Neil closed his eyes as Andrew read on. “‘ _I thought an hour ago that I loved you more than any woman has ever loved a man, but a half hour after that I knew that what I felt before was nothing compared to what I felt then. But ten minutes after that, I understood that my previous love was a puddle compared to the high seas before a storm. Your eyes are like that, did you know? Well they are. How many minutes ago was I? Twenty? Had I brought my feelings up to then? It doesn't matter_.'”

“I can’t tell if this book is taking itself seriously or not,” Neil said, when Andrew stopped to take a sip of his water.

Andrew paused, his bottle hovering in the air. “I thought it was rather obviously satire.”

Neil hummed. “I mean, it’s funny, yes. But still, the story-within-the-story...I don’t know, it feels real.”

A million images went through Andrew’s head. Neil, leaning across the counter in the bookstore, sunglasses perched on his head and a crooked smile on his lips. The mask dropping into place as he got out of Andrew’s car. Scooping up a startled Bux, dancing across the kitchen with the cat pressed against his chest, singing horribly out of key. Laughing to himself over a book Andrew had given him. Lying nestled in pillows, silent and soft, watching Andrew in the pale light of dawn.

“The best fairy tales always do.”

**Author's Note:**

> We can be found on tumblr [@annawrites](http://annawrites.tumblr.com) and [@fuzzballsheltiepants](http://fuzzballsheltiepants.tumblr.com) and [@gluupor](http://gluupor.tumblr.com).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Surreal But Nice [Podficast]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22690447) by [FoxsoulCourt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxsoulCourt/pseuds/FoxsoulCourt)




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